Cinder Lizzy
by Fredrica
Summary: When Elizabeth inherits 10000 pounds a year, she finds herself the object of unwanted attention, even from the odious Mr Darcy who had previously declared her 'not handsome enough to tempt him'. As per her godfather's request, she joins her aunt Sempronia in London, to be introduced to the Ton.
1. The golden apples

**OK** , **_Go Down Red Roses_ is now complete. Please read and review. I will take it down once it reaches 500,000 views or there has not been a review for a month, whichever comes sooner. **

**As for all my stories, there is a Pinterest storyboard for _Cinder Lizzy_ , which I try to keep up to date. The chapter naming competition is running, as usual. Please enter via review,**

 **Cheers**

 **Fred**

* * *

 **Chapter one The** **golden** **apples**

"Papa!" said Lizzy, as she ran from the portico to embrace her father as he got down from the post-chaise.

"Yes, Lizzy! Here I am—a day late, but in one piece. Did I worry you? I did not think one day's delay worth a letter."

"We were not _very_ worried, Papa. We thought perhaps you had departed late and spent one night at an inn?"

By this time, Lizzy's less fleet elder sister, Jane, had arrived in her sister's wake to kiss her father. "You had no trouble with the carriage, I trust, Papa?"

"No, Jane, no carriage trouble, or any unnecessary stops, Lizzy. I departed Oxford a day late. That is all."

"Ah! Your first surmise was right, Lizzy!" cried Jane. "You found the company convivial, Papa?"

"It was certainly good to see one's old friends," said Mr Bennet as his footmen retrieved his luggage from the boot of the chaise, "even on so sad an occasion."

Mr Bennet paid off the post boy and with the help of his cane, mounted the steps of the portico. By this time his wife had made it as far as the vestibule.

"Thank goodness, you have come, Mr Bennet! Mrs Hill made your favourite pork pie yesterday, but we did not touch a morsel when you failed to arrive. All our efforts would have gone to waste if you had not appeared today, for it would not have done to keep it a second night!"

"Well, I anticipate the pork pie!" replied Mr Bennet wryly, knowing his treat had only eventuated on the expectation of the largesse he was expected to dispense. "Right now, I could certainly do with a cup of tea."

"It will be in the parlour, as soon as you sit down, Mr Bennet. You cannot say I have not had tea on the table whenever you have wanted it!"

"No, my dear," said Mr Bennet. "I cannot say that."

Mr Bennet had journeyed to Oxford for the funeral of his friend, Mr Pickering, who had died an untimely death from a cancer. Mr Pickering and Mr Bennet had been fast friends from the time they shared rooms at Magdelan in Oxford. They had almost become brothers when Mr Pickering had become betrothed to Mr Bennet's sister, Sempronia; but in the end it had come to nothing. Mr Bennet had never forgiven his sister for breaking Mr Pickering's heart. As much as his sister's callous behaviour had pained Mr Bennet, it had not weakened his relationship with Mr Pickering. They had remained fast friends, even after Mr Bennet's elder brother had died in an accident and Mr Bennet had inherited Longbourn, forcing him to give up the fellowship he had just been awarded. Mr Bennet's inheritance had been a double-edged sword*. Longbourn had made him far richer than he had ever expected to be, but it had also robbed him of the scholarly existence he had loved. Instead, he had lived vicariously through his weekly letters to his friend. Mr Pickering had eventually stood as godfather to Mr Bennet's second child, Elizabeth, and that was why Mr Bennet had stayed on for a day longer after his friend's funeral and the reading of the will.

Mr Bennet delayed the inevitable questions regarding the outcome of his journey that were hanging on his wife's lips by relating an amusing anecdote of an altercation he had witnessed at a coaching inn that morning. Knowing his second eldest daughter to share his fine appreciation of the ridiculous, Mr Bennet had been treasuring it for several hours, and now dispensed it in fine narrative style.

Not five minutes later, Mrs Hill, who had kept her kettle on the boil all afternoon, bustled in with tea. She was followed by the Bennets' third daughter, Mary, who had abandoned copying an extract from a book of sermons upon hearing the tinkle of the tea tray. She gave her father a perfunctory kiss before taking her place at the table.

"Where are Kitty and Lydia?" asked Mr Bennet.

"Oh! They have gone to Meryton to choose some new ribbons to furbish up* their gowns," said Mrs Bennet. "Mr Bingley arrived today with the invitations to his ball!" she added, giving a beaming nod to her beautiful eldest daughter, Jane, who had quickly riveted Mr Bingley's attention soon after the eligible young gentleman had arrived at Netherfield, the country estate he had leased for the year.

Mr Bennet frowned. No doubt Kitty and Lydia were now giggling over ribbons in the local haberdashery, accompanied by several handsome officers of the local militia being queried for their learned opinion on the subject. "Well, it is their loss," he said, "for now they will have the news second hand." He then took a leisurely sip of his tea.

"Well, Mr Bennet?" prompted Mrs Bennet indignantly. "Do not keep us all waiting! If Mr Pickering has given Lizzy a few guineas, it may be sufficient to make up a silk gown for the ball, for she only has her best muslin. Come now! This might be her last chance to snare Mr Darcy and his ten thousand a year!"

"Mother," said Lizzy. "I do not wish to 'snare Mr Darcy'. I have no wish to marry an odious man, regardless of his riches."

"I am glad you are of that opinion, Lizzy," said Mr Bennet, "and I wish your aunt Sempronia had been of a similar mind, for I am sure she would have been much happier with poor Mr Pickering. However, your will need not be put to the test. You are to be a great heiress."

"What do you mean, Papa?" asked Lizzy, sure her father was joking. She had only met Mr Pickering twice in her life and knew he lived very modestly in Oxford. She had received a guinea from him every year on her birthday since she was ten years old and dutifully wrote one page to him each year in thank you.

"I beg your pardon. I thought I was speaking plain English," retorted Mr Bennet, smiling. "Mr Pickering had a small estate in the north—in Manchester, to be precise. When we were at Oxford together, it was a small apple orchard that barely earned him enough money to cover his expenses at Oxford. That is why he chose to share rooms with me rather than get his own. After I left university for Longbourn, Mr Pickering's brother needed a larger site to expand his cotton mill, so they went into partnership and knocked the apple trees down. Over the years, Mr Pickering lived very modestly on his fellowship and allowed his brother to invest his share of the earnings in return for a larger stake. The enterprise is now worth a considerable sum, and Mr Pickering left his part of it in trust* for you, Lizzy, as his god-daughter. That is why I was a day late. There were some formalities to be gone through in setting up the trust."

"An heiress, Mr Bennet?" exclaimed his wife. "Just how much is a mill on a small apple orchard worth?"

"Ten thousand a year, Mrs Bennet. Lizzy is to have ten thousand a year."

Mrs Bennet jumped to her feet, upsetting her teacup.

"We are saved, Mr Bennet!" she cried and then promptly fainted.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*double-edged sword — something that has both favorable and unfavorable consequences

*Furbish - to give a new look to : renovate —often used with up. 1st known use 14th century.

*trust—by English law, as a woman, Lizzy cannot own property, that is why a trust is set up. Males manage the estate on Lizzy's behalf.


	2. Inkblots and tea leaves

Ok, **I'm thinking of not doing a Pinterest storyboard for this story, since it is not clear to me that anyone is looking at them. However, correct me if I am wrong. Unlike fanfiction, which gives authors nice metrics to judge popularity, Pinterest's feedback is a very blunt tool. Instead I am proposing to just put up some key pictures to explain things like the shot silk in this chapter.**

 **A few people have complained in reviews that my finished stories have been taken down but have not yet appeared on Amazon. This is because it takes some time to proof the stories and typeset them. Please see my profile for publication information. Published authors used to leave their complete stories on fanfiction until they were published for the Kindle. Unfortunately several authors had their work stolen and put up for sale on Amazon by opportunists. Most authors now leave their complete stories up for a few weeks to allow readers to finish them. If you follow the story you will be notified whenever a new chapter is posted and won't miss out.**

 **According to the regency currency converter at the national archives uk In 1810, £10,000 would have the same spending worth of 2005's £339,600.00. ie better than a professor, less than the prime minister. However some of the other suggestions may be valid. Please cite your source if possible.**

 **To the guest who queried the need for a footnote for 'double-edged sword', you're right. Ngram shows it has become increasingly popular since the 1980s, so I probably won't include it as a footnote in the Kindle edition. Fanfiction is a bit different, however. Quite a few readers are from countries where English is not the native language, which is why I included it here.**

 **Thanks for the feedback, alix33, I've added a footnote in my master.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter one were:**

" **Ten Thousand a Year" by** ** _Lee3619_** **,**

 **"We are saved!" by** ** _Kaohing_** **,**

 **"As Good as a Lord" by FatPatricia515,**

 **"So take that Mr Darcy" by** ** _Sooty85_** **,**

 **"Windfall" by** ** _Clara84_** **,**

 **"The Apple of a Godfather's Eye" by ilex-ferox,**

 **"A golden apple" or "A fair(y) godfather" or "The apple of discord" by** ** _Laure Saintyves_** **,**

 **"Let the Games Begin!" by** ** _Missouri Walker_** **,**

 **"In Trust, Who to Trust, Trust Yourself" by** ** _Deanna27_** **,**

 **"Let the games begin!" by** ** _Missouri Walker_** **,**

 **"Tea and Ten Thousand" by** ** _Dizzy Lizzy.60_**

 **I liked the simplicity of "Windfall" by** ** _Clara84_** **but decided to go with "The golden apples" by** ** _Laure Saintyves._**

* * *

 _ **Synopsis** : Mr Bennet arrives home from Mr Pickering's funeral to announce that Lizzy is an heiress._

 **Chapter 2** **Inkblots and tea leaves**

Mrs Bennet was duly revived with her vinaigrette, but her celebrations proved short-lived when the nature of the trust was explained to her by Mr Bennet: Lizzy might help her mother and sisters with her pin money, but the bulk of her fortune was protected by her trustees, who would not allow it to be squandered. In short, it was Lizzy who had been elevated into another sphere, not her family.

Fanny was disgusted but not defeated. She was sure there must be some other way round, especially once Mr Bennet revealed that he was one of the infamous trustees. In view of his wife's protestations, Mr Bennet cut short his homecoming to retreat to his study—his safe harbour against upsets and all loud noises. Before clearing the parlour door, he begged Lizzy to come talk to him in half an hour when she had finished her tea.

"So," said Fanny, clasping her second eldest's forearm conspiratorially on Mr Bennet's disappearance. "You must try to get an advance from your father to purchase some silk. If I write at once to your aunt, the package can be here as soon as tomorrow! Lilac shot with pink* would be very becoming with your dark hair, Lizzy! There is a seamstress in Luton who can make it up in time. You will look finer than the Bingley sisters! Aye! And more becoming too!—for Caroline is too scrawny and Louisa too plain! With Jane in her gold silk, the two of you will will be the belles of the ball! Like the Gunning sisters!*"

Lizzy smiled at this happy image. "I am sure it would look very well, Mama," she agreed, having no intention of importuning her papa, who Lizzy could see was in no mood to speak of finery.

Satisfied, Mrs Bennet began planning details of the gown, going so far as to request Jane to make a sketch and suggesting several notes to add to it regarding frills and furbelows*.

Meanwhile Lizzy sipped her tea, remarkably subdued from her usual spritely self. She knew she ought to be triumphant: thanks to the hand of fate, her fortune now eclipsed that of the haughty Bingley sisters—though Caroline still had the chance to increase her worth through marriage and clearly had Mr Darcy in her sights*. Louisa had settled for a man of more fashion than substance in Mr Hurst. But Lizzy was having a little trouble coming to terms with her good fortune. It seemed like something from a fairy story with Caroline and Louisa cast as the wicked sisters.

Elizabeth had certainly suffered at the hands of the Bingley sisters, who had not been kind during her recent stay at Netherfield. Lizzy had gone there to tend poor Jane who had fallen ill with a sick cold. Foul weather and Mrs Bennet's machinations had turned Jane's dinner invitation from Caroline into an overnight stay. The cold that Jane had contracted in consequence of her wet ride to Netherfield had turned the overnight stay into almost a week's sojourn. While Jane was bedfast, Lizzy had had to endure the barbs of the wicked sisters over dinner and tea. Whenever Mr Darcy was present, they paraded their money and expensive private school educations to Lizzy's detriment, casting aspersions on her relatives in trade. In that sense, Lizzy supposed, the Bingleys were more the 'superior sisters' rather than truly wicked.

Caroline's possessiveness of her brother's friend Mr Darcy was almost palpable. Lizzy could not comprehend what she had done to deserve it but she understood that by just breathing she brought out the worst in Miss Bingley. She had never flirted with Mr Darcy or made any claim on the odious man at all.

Nor had Mr Darcy shown the least inclination towards Elizabeth. Quite the contrary, the odious Mr Darcy had made clear his disdain for her at the Meryton assembly when he had publicly refused to dance with her. It was a slight Elizabeth could not bear well—for although Lizzy was not fixed on marriage, she had always been sought as a partner at assemblies. She and Jane were the local beauties. To be thus rejected by the first member of the Ton she had ever met had rankled, but Lizzy had not let it bother her for long. Clearly she could not hold a candle* to the true beauties of the Ton in London. So what if she was a big fish in a little pond? Lizzy was content with her life in Hertfordshire. Nor was she jealous of her elder sister's superior beauty. They were the best of friends. If Jane's golden locks were considered more fashionable than her chestnut mane, Elizabeth did not resent her sister's ascendency—for Jane was bent on marriage and very much in love with Mr Bingley. And if Jane's beauty acquired her dream for her, it had served its purpose. Aspiring only to the role of favourite spinster aunt to Jane's children, Lizzy was content to be second fiddle in a small town. It was enough to have appreciative glances from eligible local gentlemen—like the officers of the militia—thrown at her. If Mr Darcy was not among her admirers, she would lose no sleep.

Nonetheless, Mr Darcy's behaviour at Netherfield had been puzzling. He had kept staring at her until Lizzy was sure there must be a smudge on her face. At first she had thought this was a continuation of his disdain, but he had gone on to defend Lizzy against Miss Bingley's insults more than once, giving Caroline the occasional set down when her jealous behaviour became too outrageous. But Elizabeth was not in any danger of believing Mr Darcy to be in the way of regretting his previous slight towards her. He was too starched up for that. Lizzy was sure his reactions were his way of setting Caroline at a distance rather than being guided by any chivalrous motive on Lizzy's behalf.

Elizabeth felt slightly uneasy as she sipped the last of her tea. Changes were brewing. If only she could understand the leaves at the bottom of her cup. Having no further reason for delay, Lizzy rested her cup on her saucer and got up, excusing herself from the table. Her mother gave her a conspiratorial nod.

Entering her father's study after her knock produced a summons, Lizzy found him not in his favourite chair by the window, but behind his desk, reading some letters.

"Sit down, Lizzy," Mr Bennet instructed, indicating the chair on the opposite side of the desk and waiting for her to settle. "I suppose you have heard of clouds with silver linings? Well, this silver lining has a cloud. Mr Pickering wrote me a long letter explaining his decision to give his worldly goods to you—after all, he could have given everything to his brother or his nephews and nieces, but he thought they were well taken care of. Mr Pickering was very impressed with the letters you wrote to him every year."

"I cannot think why, Papa," replied Lizzy. "I merely wrote one page, as you instructed me. I hardly even remember what I wrote. Since I did not know Mr Pickering very well, I could only describe what I had done that year. You read every letter I wrote before I sealed it. You were certainly not impressed."

"No, I dare say, I was not. Mr Pickering was always a better man than I. Where I saw the occasional blot and grammatical error, he saw a young lady full of wonder and potential, hampered by a spotty education. His last wish was for you to fulfil that potential with the benefit of his money. He wants you to go to London, Lizzy."

"To London, but why?"

"To mix in society as befits a lady of your wealth. Perhaps to fill out the gaps in the poor education I have given you. You cannot go to university, but you can learn from the best masters in London."

"So he wishes me to become a scholar?" asked Lizzy in puzzlement. It had never been her ambition to become one.

"Not necessarily. He merely wishes you to be all that you want to be, to not be hampered by lack of funds. You know, of course, that Mr Pickering never stopped thinking of your Aunt Sempronia, but he was charity itself in forgiving her for breaking their engagement. He thinks she made the only decision that a sensible but impecunious woman could in a man's world: she took the gentleman who could support her best—the baron. To put it simply, Mr Pickering wants you to be able to choose your own path. He has not put any stipulations on how you conduct yourself—whether you marry or not. He wishes you to forge your own way."

"Then I am to go alone to London? Could I not take Jane?"

Mr Bennet sighed. "Mr Pickering made one additional request—he begged me to heal the breach with my sister. He feared that he had been the cause of a schism in our family. He specifically asked that I write to your aunt Sempronia and request her patronage for you."

"But Papa, are you willing to do that? You have not spoken to her for years. I have never met her!"

"I thought about it for a long time on the carriage ride back, Lizzy. I believe Mr Pickering was wrong to blame himself for our schism. It was your aunt Sempronia's heartless decision that did it. Nonetheless, given that your aunt is a member of the Ton, I feel bound to honour his request. She can give you the entrée into polite society. I wrote a letter while I was waiting for you, Lizzy. Here it is," Mr Bennet said, handing a single sheet to his daughter.

Lizzy read the letter in her hands.

"As you see," said Mr Bennet, "it is terse and to the point, stating the situation as I have related it to you. I propose that I seal and send it. To London, you must go. That is the cloud in the silver lining. If your aunt agrees, then you will go to her. Otherwise, I have been asked by the trustees to hire a companion for you and to set you up in lodgings. Do I have your agreement to send the letter?"

Lizzy shook her head in bewilderment. It seemed her world was to be turned topsy-turvy. She reminded herself that one should never look a gift horse in the mouth* and managed a 'yes'.

After Elizabeth departed, Mr Bennet sighed. Of all his daughters, he had always been closest to Lizzy, though he had never really asked himself why. She was the easy companion—the one who understood all his jokes; was easiest to converse with; did not annoy him by saying stupid things. It had taken Mr Pickering to notice the similarity in her letters—Elizabeth was very like Mr Bennet in intelligence and demeanour. All these years, Mr Bennet had waited for a son—not just an heir to carry on the entail of Longbourn, but an intellectual heir to groom for university. He never came. He had let his favourite daughter grow up like a weed, tutored only by her ignorant mother and the occasional master for the summer. Now he was to lose her company, Mr Bennet finally understood the truth of Mr Pickering's observation. Having missed the company of his scholarly friends since his departure from Oxford many years ago, Matthew Bennet was now to lose his boon companion of the last ten, having never properly appreciated her.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*lilac shot with pink—two tone silk with lilac on the warp and pink on the weft, producing an iridescent appearance when folded.

*the Gunning sisters—two poor Irish sisters with noble ancestry on their mother's side, who took London by storm with their beauty. One was married to two Dukes and the other to an earl.

*frills and furbelows—a furbelow is the same as a frill, a poetic English mish-mash coupling the Flemish 'fril' with the French 'falbala'

*in her sights—device on a firearm for assisting in aiming, from 1580s

*could not hold a candle—could not compare

*second fiddle—to 'play second fiddle' is to take a subordinate position to another person. It derives from the orchestral role of Second Violin. This person leads the group of second violins (fiddles) who play a supportive role musically to the first violins, attested in print form 1801.

*look a gift horse in the mouth—find fault with something that has been received as a gift or favour. specifically, the age of a horse was determined by inspecting it's teeth. Shonky horse dealers reduced the apparent age of a horse by filing its teeth—a practice known as bishoping.


	3. Frills and furbelows

**Thanks** **for your corrections, _alix33, ilex-ferox_ and _Irina-314._**

 **OK, I have one vote for Pinterest so I will go ahead, but in a more abbreviated form.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 2 were**

 **"I've looked at Clouds from both sides now" by _Deanna27_ ,**

 **"Clouds and Silver Linings" by _FatPatricia515_ ,**

 **"Reflections" by _vaarin_ ,**

 **'Looking to the Future' or 'The Benefit of Education' by _ilex-ferox_ ,**

 **"A wind of change" or "A silver lining with a cloud" or "Frills and furbelows" by _Laure Saintyves,_**

 **"Education for real lady" by _Irina-514_ ,**

 **"Bound For Glory" by _Dizzy Lizzy.60,_**

 **"A cloud in the silver lining" by _kitkat_.**

 **I decided to go with "Ink blots and tea leaves" based on your suggestion, _ilex-ferox._**

* * *

 **Chapter 3** **Frills and Furbelows**

Of course, Mrs Bennet was waiting in the corridor when Elizabeth emerged from Mr Bennet's study, eager to know if the requested largesse had been dispensed. To her mother's hopeful raising of her eyebrows, Lizzy returned a solemn shake of the head. Fanny's dramatic reaction was pure comedy worthy of a pantomime to Elizabeth. Her mother stomped her slipper and flapped her arms like a fat duck trying to take off from a pond, all the while not making a sound, for she dare not, just outside Mr Bennet's study.

But Fanny was not to be thwarted. When Elizabeth went off to the garden in search of Jane, Mrs Bennet sat down at her writing slope and, in her round, childish hand, wrote to her sister-in-law in Cheapside. She would punt on tick*.

Elizabeth was unaware of the furthering of her mother's scheme or its success, until the next day when several ells* of a beautiful shot silk arrived in a package from Mrs Gardiner. She and Jane were arranging the flowers they had just cut in vases when her mother walked into the parlour.

"Ooh, Lizzy!" Mrs Bennet squealed in anticipation as she finished untying the string and unwrapped the brown paper to lay eyes upon it. "It is just as I described it!" she breathed, unfolding the accompanying note.

Lydia and Kitty, who had been sewing new ribbons onto the bodices of their best muslin gowns, dropped their needles and ran to look.

"Oh! It _is_ pretty! Can I borrow it once it is made up, Lizzy? Perhaps wear it to one of the Lucases' soirées?" petitioned Lydia.

"It is too fine for a soirée!" retorted Kitty. "Do not lend it to her, Lizzy. Her bust is too big! She tore the bodice of my pink muslin when she borrowed it!"

"I did not! You must have taken it off carelessly the last time you wore it!"

"Now, now, girls!" said Mrs Bennet, flapping her hand absently as she concentrated on reading her note, mumbling each word.

Lydia and Kitty continued their argument in mime, glaring and mouthing at each other, so as to not disturb their mother's scholarly activities. Their contretemps had just got to the stage of a shove from Kitty when it was fortunately terminated by Mrs Bennet looking up upon finishing her missive.

"Your aunt was so clever, Lizzy!" Mrs Bennet exclaimed. "Apparently my brother does not yet aspire to dealing in shot silks, but she was able to barter a larger quantity of red silk with another trader.

"Kitty, ask Hill to call for the carriage. We must be off to Luton at once if the gown is to be ready for the ball. Lydia, fetch my primrose bonnet. Jane, where is that sketch you did yesterday?"

Ambushed, Lizzy opened her mouth in horror when the sketch of the over-trimmed gown was presented. But before she could voice her protest, Jane intervened.

"I know how you like plain gowns, Lizzy, so I drew this additional sketch," she said, offering a second sheet, "inspired by one of the fashion journals Caroline lent to me while I was sick in bed."

Elizabeth looked askance at this new offering, which appeared only marginally better than the first. "Oh, Jane! You know how I despise frills and flounces! Can we not just embellish it with cut-out sleeves or figuring* or some such?"

"But it is important to take advantage of the shot silk, Lizzy," advised Jane. "Otherwise, the extra expense is not warranted. See? There is only a single row of rosettes at the bosom and another at the hem, to weigh it down and make it move correctly. The gathering of the fabric is necessary to show off the second colour."

Lizzy could see she was outnumbered, and if she must wear a frilly dress, the second was more to her taste than the first. Putting the best face on it, she conceded.

Bonnets were fetched, boots and pelisses were donned, and without further ado, the ladies were off on the ten mile journey to Luton, the largest town in their vicinity.

Mrs Bennet did not frequently travel to Luton and it had changed much since her last trip there three years ago to purchase a bonnet for Miss Goulding's wedding. Evidently the hat business was booming*. The seamstress Mrs Bennet had in mind was one that Lady Lucas had boasted about when Fanny had admired her new gown at a recent soirée at Lucas Lodge. The name had stuck in Fanny's mind like glue, for she had already been planning the finery for Jane's wedding to Mr Bingley. She had high hopes that an announcement would be made at the Netherfield ball.

John Coachman* had almost driven past the establishment when Lydia, practically hanging out of the coach window, spotted the sign.

Upon their entrance, they discovered the proprietress busy with another customer. Madame Fenelle's French accent had distinct London undertones, but that did not discourage Mrs Bennet who was admiring the gown being fitted to a rather rotund lady with several chins. Fanny glanced at Lizzy and Jane with sparkling eyes, nodding her enthusiasm.

At last Madame was satisfied with the set of the sleeves and pulling the pins from her mouth, sent her client off to the dressing room to be extracted from her creation by two of her assistants. The genteel attire of the ladies who had just arrived and their coach outside, which the dressmaker had not failed to notice when it pulled up, were sufficient to gain her prompt attention. The shot silk, when it was displayed, positively riveted it.

"Mrs Bennet of Longbourn?" repeated Madame. "Of course, how delightful to finally meet you! Lady Lucas has spoken of you often."

This remark nettled Mrs Bennet who considered herself the first lady of her district, and Lady Lucas, despite her title, an encroaching parvenu. Indeed, Sir William Lucas had for many years been the foremost merchant in Meryton and had only recently gained his knighthood for services to the community after a long stint as mayor. Nonetheless, Mrs Bennet graciously chose to overlook the offence in view of her greater need for a superior gown. The sacrifices she was willing to make for the betterment of her daughters knew no bounds.

She grasped her second daughter by both shoulders. "Dear Elizabeth," she confided to the dressmaker in a bid to establish her pre-eminence in the locale of Meryton, "has just inherited ten thousand a year from her dear godfather and she is much in need of a few new gowns."

Lizzy glanced uncomfortably at Jane. It seemed her mother was intent on spending her inheritance before she had actually received it.

"Just how many dresses would the young lady be requiring?" asked Madame, temporarily forgetting her French accent.

"We need one, most urgently, for the Netherfield ball next Tuesday," replied Mrs Bennet. "But I am sure that a few others will be required before Elizabeth goes up to London for The Season."

Jane drew her sketches from her reticule. "We were hoping you might be able to design something along these lines. My sister is particularly partial to the simpler one with the single row of rosettes at the bosom, which we thought would show the second colour in the silk to advantage."

"Oh, yes!" cried the dressmaker in agreement before turning to another of her assistants. "Clara! Lock the street door, so Miss can strip down to her stays, as Mrs Hocking is still in the dressing room!"

This command was quickly effected and Lizzy soon found herself standing in her stays and petticoat while a calico pattern was rapidly drafted and fitted to her form. In a trice, several silk rosettes made up from a remnant were pinned to the bodice and the lilac silk draped over her shoulder.

"Oh!" breathed Mrs Bennet. "I can imagine it already!"

"Indeed!" said Madame graciously. "May I compliment you on your taste, Mrs Bennet. The colour of the silk is perfect for Miss Elizabeth's complexion and dark hair. The design you have chosen, ideal to show off the beautiful fabric. Did you have the silk from London?"

"Oh, yes! My brother is a trader in imported goods," confided Mrs Bennet, wallowing in the praise and completely at ease with her mercantile relations, despite what the Bingley sisters thought of them.

"Indeed?" asked Madame, sensing a business opportunity.

When the curtains of the dressing room were thrown back, Mrs Hocking emerged ponderously in her town clothes and gave an indulgent nod towards the beauty festooned in pins. "Ah!" she exclaimed. "I remember when I was young!"

Madame bid her rich client a gracious goodbye, promising that her dress would be ready for a final fitting in a sennight.

"Oh dear," exclaimed Mrs Bennet when the lady had exited to the street. "I neglected to emphasise the urgency of our mission. The ball is next Tuesday!"

"Fear not!" said Madame as she rearranged pins to allow Lizzy to step out of the pattern. "Our fingers are more fleet on beautiful ball gowns! Are they not, Clara?" she asked her assistant mischievously.

Clara curtsied her acquiescence.

"Now, as to price..." said Madame. "I usually charge ten pounds for a ballgown with the material supplied, but as you have such a pretty daughter and this is the first commission of what I hope to be many, I will undertake to do it for eight."

Mrs Bennet nodded happily and was just about to broach the delicate topic of settling the bill on the next quarter day*, when Jane extracted two golden guineas* from her reticule. Madame accepted these happily as a down payment.

Lizzy glanced uncomfortably at her sister, knowing Jane had been saving the guineas to purchase some new silk gloves for the ball, but Jane resolutely refused to meet her eyes.

Lydia and Kitty were extracted from their perusal of the fashion journals and Mary retrieved from behind a muslin curtain in the window where she was sitting on one of the seamstresses' tuffets, reading a psalter* she had brought with her.

As the door closed behind her clients, Madame clasped her hands in delight. "If I am not mistaken, Clara, I expect that dress will bring in many commissions. Lady Lucas told me yesterday that the Bingleys are a Tonnish family from London! The ball will, no doubt, be a major event. Run, fetch your sister from home, for we will need all the hands we can to make it up in time!"

The silk was soon cut, the matching thread selected, and all the seamstresses retired to their tuffets in the window to ply their trade.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*punt on tick—to bet using an iou rather than cash, a 'ticket' being another term for an iou. More generally, to rack up a debt or be in debt.

*ells—a length measure used for fabric and ribbons, typically 45 inches in England and 37 inches in Scotland ie the Scottish ell was close to a yard whereas the English ell was over a metre. Measures were very specific to particular professions.

*figuring—an applied embellishment such as embroidery, quilting etc

*hat business was booming—Luton was a major centre for the straw hat trade for London—the basis of all bonnets.

*John Coachman—a generic name for a servant who drove a coach, rather depersonalising.

*quarter day—one of the four days per year when major financial transactions were settled, still used in modern times by utility companies that present bills four times a year, although some have increased the frequency to bimonthly and monthly bills.

*guineas—worth 21 shillings (compared to a pound which was worth 20). Luxury goods were traded in guineas.

*psalter—a book of psalms


	4. Prelude

**Yes, _ilex-ferox_ , my location for Longbourn is based on Smith's triangulation in all my stories. Thanks for picking me up on 'psalter'. I decided not to reemploy JA's irony when describing Sir William's knighthood.**

 **Thanks for the info on lend/loan, _FD4me_. My dictionary says that loan is the correct verb with lend etc used in a number of dialects, particularly northern. Both are used in Australia but we got corrected at school if we used 'lend'. So I have had Kitty use lend and Jane (who was corrected by a master) use loan. Would any other Brits care to weigh in on this topic?**

 **Yes, _Marabel_ , the forks in the English language and culture in the colonies are very interesting—sort of like time capsules. The US has an older, Georgian and pre-Georgian aspect to it, along with mixes from other European nations (eg cookie from Dutch). I suppose trunks were originally strapped to the back, hence the word. Australia is more Regency in nature than the US, having been settled in 1788, fairly close to Byron's birthdate. So, at some point, carriages must have got a distinct component for storing goods called the 'boot'. India, too, has a distinct Regency flavour to its English. I believe they still use the term 'dickie' interchangeably with 'boot', but I think that's more Edwardian because there were fold-out dickie seats in the boot of some early sports cars.**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 3 were:**

 **"Dressed to Impress" by _FatPatricia515_ , **

**"Ells of shot silk", "A visit to the seamstress", "A lady in need of new gowns" by _Laure Saintyves,_**

 **"Frills and Furbelows" by _ilex-ferox_ ,**

 **"Putting on the Glitz" by _Deanna27_ ,**

 **"Shot silk on tick" by _FD4me_ ,**

 **"French accent and red silk" by _Irena-314_.**

 **"Frills and Furbelows" seems about right, _ilex-ferox._**

* * *

 **Chapter 4** **Prelude**

The day of the Netherfield ball had been a whirlwind and it was still only six in the evening. The two eldest Bennets had gone early with their mother to Luton for the final fitting of Lizzy's gown. The younger Bennets had declined to accompany them. Kitty and Lydia were working feverishly on furbishing their gowns, having discovered on their first trip that they could look at the extended range of fallals* in Luton but not purchase them. Disdaining all worldly goods, Mary had gone back to her tracts*.

Upon their arrival at the dressmakers, the Bennet ladies had discovered that Madame Fenelle and her girls had wrought wonders, sculpting the silk into a striking iridescent confection.

But all Lizzy could see in the mirror after donning the new stays and the gown were those rosettes, drawing attention to the alarmingly low-cut neckline. _My goodness! I have a décolletage!_

"Is it not a little revealing?" she asked tentatively.

"Heavens, no!" cried Mrs Bennet. "Why, they cut dresses much lower in my day! I remember when your aunt Philips stepped on my train at the regimental ball..." she added with a titter, but declined to elaborate on this anecdote when confronted with Lizzy's raised eyebrow, so reminiscent of her father.

"It looks very well, Lizzy!" intervened Jane hastily. "Not unbecoming at all."

"Indeed, I assure you, ma'am," said Madame Fenelle. "It is of the first respectability—just how the gowns are being worn now in London."

A pair of pink silk gloves, of the second colour in the silk, were produced and matching slippers—for only two extra guineas. Lizzy protested that her ivory gloves and slippers would suffice, but Jane and her mother would not hear of it. Madame was right, declared Mrs Bennet, the pink was just the finishing touch needed to make an ensemble of the first stare*.

So the gown had been suitably praised and carefully returned to its bandbox for the journey home, with Mrs Bennet promising that they would return on the following Friday to commission more gowns.

This had perturbed Lizzy, for they had not yet heard from her aunt Sempronia, although Lizzy had taxed her father for a little more information on the Baroness Mickleham—or at least as much as he was willing to divulge. Lizzy was even beginning to hope that they might not get a response from her aunt; that she might be able to convince her father to let her continue living in Hertfordshire with Jane rather than be thrust into a friendless existence in London. She was sure all the females would be like the Bingley sisters—all climbing over one another to snare a rich husband and ready to scratch each other's eyes out. And if her aunt Sempronia did not reply, and her father insisted on the lodgings, then what better companion to take with her to London than Jane? Lizzy felt she was coasting downhill on a runaway carriage, with forks in the road branching ahead of her and no time to choose her way before the carriage lurched on regardless. An anxious feeling resided uncomfortably in her stomach, but perhaps it was just the excitement of the Netherfield ball.

Lizzy was determined, however, that Jane should not be short-changed by her generosity in making the down payment on the gown, whatever her own problems. When a polite enquiry to Madame had elicited the names of the best emporia* for gloves, they had walked down the street in search of a pair to do justice to Jane's golden gown. Having spent the entirety of her last quarter day's money on a new pair of boots, which she could not regret since they had kept her feet dry on the wet walk to Netherfield, Lizzy had been forced to ask for an advance from her papa to repay Jane. The Bennet ladies had acquired a beautiful pair of golden lace mitts from the second shop they entered, which kept an astonishing array of hats for the London trade and a smaller range of other goods for local consumption.

They had returned not long ago from their second trip to Luton, which had taken the best part of the day. There had been just enough time to attend to an extended toilette worthy of an occasion such as a ball. This involved the washtub in the scullery rather than the bowl and ewer in their chambers, used for their daily ablutions.

Lizzy now stood in front of the mirror after Sarah had put the finishing touches to her hair. At last she was able to tear her eyes away from the distracting rosettes at her breast and view the whole.

"Oh, Lizzy! You look beautiful!" breathed Jane.

"I am humbled to admit, Jane, that you and Mama have better taste than I do. I would never have ordered such a dress, or such gloves, but I must concede that the overall effect is quite pleasing."

"You look ever so pretty, ma'am!" exclaimed Sarah.

"Are you girls ready yet?" asked Mrs Bennet, picking up her skirts to hurry in. "Well!" said Fanny, coming to an abrupt halt, unable to credit her eyes. "I do swear you look almost as good as Jane, Lizzy!"

"You cast me quite in the shade*, Lizzy," averred Jane.

Lizzy smiled and shook her head.

"I would not go so far as to say that!" objected Fanny. "You need to eat a little more and stop walking yourself to a stick over hill and dale," she advised, "before you will rival your sister!"

Lizzy's smiled widened and she raised one eyebrow a fraction at Jane.

"Where is my jewel box, Sarah?" asked Mrs Bennet, casting about. "I gave it to you once you finished my hair."

Sarah produced the box, which she had sat on the dressing table.

"I have just the thing, Lizzy!" said Mrs Bennet, pulling out several layers to rummage in the bottom. "Your uncle Edward gave it to me the year I came out. I used to wear it quite frequently when I was young, for I did not have much in the way of jewels then."

She pulled out an elaborate pendant necklace of amethysts*, with several smaller stones grouped around a larger gem, and finished with a single pearl drop. It was threaded onto an edged wisp of chiffon.

"Mama, it is beautiful!" exclaimed Lizzy. "Why have I never seen you wear this?"

"But everyone knows that blondes should not wear amethysts, Lizzy! They look insipid!" cried Fanny said as she placed the necklace around her daughter's slim throat. "Your father bought me more appropriate jewels for my colouring, so I have not worn it for years!"

"It should be worn high, Mama," advised Jane, "like a choker, so that it does not interfere with the rosettes."

"I believe you are right, Jane," concurred Mrs Bennet, tying it high at the back and finishing it with a bow.

"Just like a princess!" sighed Sarah, clasping her hands together as if in prayer.

"And you, Jane, shall wear my pearls!" declared Mrs Bennet, pulling them from the box.

"No, Mama! You should wear them yourself!" declared Jane. "Let me have the topaz you are wearing."

After a token protest, Mrs Bennet conceded when Jane pointed out the Lizzy and herself would match better with the coloured gemstones around their necks. Some citrine earrings were found to match the topaz drop, for Jane's ears were pierced like her mother's. Jane pulled on her mitts, the ladies arranged their shawls, and everyone declared themselves satisfied.

Upon descending the stairs, Lizzy finally knew her ensemble had transcended to the next level when Lydia was uncharacteristically struck speechless.

But it was her Papa who gave the greatest compliment, declaring, "My dear, you look very beautiful!" before bowing to kiss her glove. "And you too, Jane," Mr Bennet added belatedly. "But we already knew that."

The coach ride to Netherfield with Kitty and Lydia was positively raucous. Assaulted by the noise, which neither of her parents seemed inclined to check, Lizzy's thoughts turned inwards to dwell on her future and churn the possibilities. With only a single likeness of her aunt, taken in miniature some thirty years ago when she was still living under her father's roof in Surrey, Lizzy had some difficulty imagining the baroness. Aunt Sempronia was two years older than Mr Bennet and two years younger than their elder brother Basil who had met an untimely death. Mr Bennet had not spoken to his sister since their great rupture. He had heard in some roundabout way that his sister had a single son, though what his age would currently be, he could not guess. He supposed his nephew to be somewhere between fifteen and twenty-five, remembering the source but not the timing of his information.

Apparently the younger brother and sister had once been close, in league against their obnoxious older brother who was to inherit the chief of the family wealth, mostly through the entail of Longbourn. When their father had died a year after Mr Bennet had gone up to Oxford, Sempronia had had little choice but to join him there. Basil, who had been living modestly on his expectations in London, had returned to the family home with a new wife and announced he had no room for his sister. She had set off unaccompanied on the mail coaches for Oxford via* London.

Of course, Mr Bennet had related, Sempronia could not stay with him in his rooms. They had found a garret in the cottage of a widow in the nearby village where his sister could stay at night. While clean and tidy, it was a far cry from the small estate where she had formerly lived. The only book the widow kept was an almanac for planting her vegetable garden. Not unnaturally, Sempronia had spent every waking hour in her brother's rooms. She arrived every morning, just after the gates were opened. Mr Bennet and Mr Pickering always saved something from their breakfast for her: an apple, a piece of toast or a lump of cheese—whatever they could inconspicuously stow in their pockets. During the day, she had tidied their rooms, washed their clothes, and read their books while they attended lectures and tutorials. They, in return, had smuggled some luncheon to her. She left the college just as the gates closed to visitors at sundown, to sup with the widow.

The romance with Mr Pickering had come on gradually. Sempronia had arrived shortly after Candlemas in their first year. As the summer drew nearer and the days became longer, she stayed later in the evening, arguing lightheartedly with them about what she had read in their books. Mr Bennet remembered it as one of the best times of his life. Pickering had gone home to his parents in Devonshire for the summer term. When he returned at Michaelmas, late one evening, he had announced to Mr Bennet the epiphany he had had during the break—there was no finer lady in all England than Sempronia, for not only was she pretty, she was as smart as any gentleman; nay, smarter than some of them who had barely passed smalls*. They courted for two terms. By the time Candlemas had come round again, they were engaged.

Thus it went on for almost a term until the night of the dean's dinner. During her time at Magdalen, Sempronia had got to know the dean's wife, one of the few ladies who actually lived at the college. That was how Sempronia came to be invited to the dean's annual dinner, to which several recent donors to the college and some notable alumni had been invited. When one of the wives of the guests was taken ill shortly before the dinner, it was Sempronia's beauty and wit that led her to fill the place at High Table*, wearing a dress that the dean's wife had lent her for the occasion. Hailing from Mickleham in Surrey, Sempronia had been seated next to the new Baron Mickleham, who had no connection to the place beyond the recreated baronetcy*. He had been raised to the peerage for services to the City, or more likely, for providing an enormous loan to the Prince Regent*. The baron had apparently been instantly captivated.

Mr Bennet would not speak of the unravelling of his sister's engagement to Mr Pickering, becoming sullen once he reached that point in his story. The least said about it, he declared, the better. So Lizzy had stored away her new information, having gained an understanding of why her father and his sister had originally been close, but still insatiably curious to know more of her aunt.

Lizzy had inured herself to Kitty and Lydia's twittering during the journey but when a shriek from her sisters pierced her reverie, Lizzy realised they had arrived at last at Netherfield. The outburst had been elicited by several mounted officers who had passed their carriage in the driveway. It finally roused Mr Bennet from his lethargy to draw his censure. Mrs Bennet immediately excused her daughters' behaviour on the grounds of their youth and the excitement of the occasion. Even she, giggled Mrs Bennet, was all atwitter.

Kitty and Lydia were out the carriage door before the footman had a chance to lower the step. The other Bennets followed with more decorum, with Lizzy and Jane emerging last, assisted by their father's hand. Having never worn silk before, Lizzy was at pains to ensure her gown did not snag on the door. As soon as her slippers were on terra firma, Lizzy saw that the Bingley sisters had formed a receiving line at the top of the steps with their brother. Both had adopted elaborate coiffures with ostrich feathers. Neither Mr Hurst nor Mr Darcy were in evidence.

Lizzy waited patiently while her mother fussed over herself and Jane, straightening their shawls and tugging at a fold in the hem of Lizzy's gown. But before Lizzy could take a step towards the manor house, she and Jane were intercepted by two of the officers, Lieutenant Wickham and Captain Carter, who complimented them both gallantly and immediately requested their hands for the first dances. Having already promised the first two to Mr Bingley upon his invitation of the Bennet family to the ball, Jane was happy to oblige with the next. Lizzy, whose hand had not already been solicited, laughingly dispensed her favours—the first two to Captain Carter and the next two to the lieutenant. She could only attribute her newfound popularity to her silk dress, for she had never before been accosted by a partner prior to actually stepping into the ballroom. Satisfied, the officers bowed and rejoined their junior fellows who were talking to Lydia and Kitty with animation, while glancing sidelong with awe in Jane and Lizzy's direction.

After Lizzy exchanged a happy glance with Jane, whose eyes had already returned to Mr Bingley, the sisters resumed their progress, urged on by their parents who followed them. Carefully mounting the steps, Lizzy appreciated that Caroline and Louisa had taken up their outfits a notch from the Meryton assembly and now looked like they had escaped Aladdin's cave with as much booty as they could wear.

Polite nothings were exchanged by members of both parties. All the while Lizzy felt extremely uncomfortable, though she could not attribute it to anything in particular the Bingley sisters said. As she picked up her skirts to step into the vestibule, Lizzy decided that she was merely sensible of all the ill will that had been directed at her by Caroline and Louisa during her stay at Netherfield and conscious that nothing had really changed. Casting these thoughts aside, Lizzy resolved to enjoy herself and determined to first find her friend Charlotte Lucas so that she might show off her dress.

Elizabeth's entry was arrested just inside the door where she encountered Mr Darcy and was immediately transfixed by his gaze. He was standing stiffly in the foyer near the base of the stairs, seemingly frozen with one foot hovering above the marble of the vestibule floor, like he had just discovered it was boiling oil. His eyes were fixed upon her, his gaze so intense that Lizzy stopped momentarily in her tracks without thinking, like a startled deer. She was immediately bunted forward by her mother, dropping her fan. Suddenly animated, Mr Darcy raced forward to retrieve it.

There was more awkwardness when Lizzy reflexively bent down to save him the trouble. She knew her error immediately—she should let him do the gentlemanly thing by restoring her fan to her. Lizzy stopped herself halfway and then realised the consequences of her second mistake—her breasts heaved in her stays as she straightened, just as Mr Darcy stood up likewise. His eyes fell upon the rosettes then darted sideways. He blushed deeply. Lizzy saw him take a deep breath, then force his eyes back to hers.

"Miss Elizabeth," he said, holding out the fan. "You are looking well tonight. May I ask if you have a dance free?"

Now Lizzy was truly astonished. Mr Darcy had actually condescended to ask her for a dance! She replied with remarkable aplomb. "Certainly, Mr Darcy. My fifth is free, after Lieutenant Wickham."

Lizzy watched curiously as Mr Darcy flushed red again, though this time she saw his lips thin and a muscle in his jaw tic. She immediately recognised not embarrassment, but anger. He gave her a curt bow and withdrew.

She watched his broad shoulders disappear in perplexity. _What have I done to annoy him now?_ she wondered.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*fallal—cheap or showy ornament, gaud. The origin of fallal is unclear. It may be an alteration of furbelow "a ruffle or flounce; a piece of showy trimming." Furbelow is a variant of falbala and of other related words in Provençal and some Italian dialects. All three words (fallal, furbelow, falbala) entered English very close together at the beginning of the 18th century. Word of the day dictionary dot com 7th Jan 2017

Tracts—a religious pamphlet or, more specifically in Mary's case, extracts she is copying from a book of sermons.

*first stare—very fashionable

*emporia—large retail stores selling a variety of goods. A forerunner of department stores.

*cast in the shade—to outshine someone with your brilliance, in beauty or wit.

*elaborate pendant necklace of amethysts—it's on the Pinterest board!

*via—by the way of, ie all the mail coaches used London as their hub.

*smalls—the matriculation exams for Oxford, more formally known as Responsions.

*High Table—a table on a raised platform in the dining room where fellows and dignitaries were seated.

*recreated barony—if a peer dies without an heir, the title becomes extinct. However, the Sovereign can choose to recreate the peerage by giving it to someone else.

*Prince of Wales—the prince was enormously extravagant from the time he was given an independent establishment at 18. From the time he was 21, the parliament granted him an annuity of £50,000 (roughly £5 million today). In 1795, the Prince of Wales's debts, amounted to the extraordinary sum of £630,000 (equivalent to £59,733,000 today (Wikipedia). He would have been roughly 26 at the time of dinner. The money conversions are based on data by Clarke & Gregory (2017).


	5. Quite an entrance

**I should have explained the chapter-naming competition more clearly to new readers. The winning entry for the name of each chapter goes into a draw to win one of three Kindle editions of any of my books. The winner of each chapter is announced when the next chapter is posted. The three prize winners are drawn from the** **chapter** **winners when the final chapter is posted. Please check out my profile for more details.**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 4 were:**

 **"Riveting Rosettes" by** ** _Deanna27_** **,**

 **"Making an Entrance' or 'Making an Impression' by** ** _ilex_** **-ferox,**

 **"Blooming décolletage", "Winning rosettes", "Handsome enough to tempt" by** ** _Laure Saintyves_** **,**

 **"Ready for dance" or "(a)Prelude before dance" by** ** _Irina_** **- _314_ ,**

 **"Darcy Gets a Good View of the Roses" by** ** _FD4me_** **,**

 **"Silks, Satins and Rosettes" by** ** _Dizzy Lizzy.60._**

 **What about "Tit for tat"? Maybe not? OK, I guess "Prelude" describes Lizzy's preparations and Aunt Sempronia's back history. Thanks, _Irina-314._**

 **Thanks for the info, _alix33_. I did not know that ostrich feathers came from Oudtshoorn in South Africa. Hopefully the ostriches still exist. Traders did a pretty good job of killing off almost all the Birds of Paradise in New Guinea for hats.**

 **Thanks** **for picking up the blooper with the Prince's contemporary title and also with the barony, _Irina-314._ Quite right. Barons are peers but baronets are not. **

**After further research, I have used lend as the verb and loan as the noun. Thanks _FD4me_ and _ilex-ferox._**

 **The situation, where Sempronia was turned out of her family home is not dissimilar to Mrs Dashwood leaving Norland with her daughters in Sense and Sensibility. Due to the Norman laws restricting females from owning property, it was unfortunately reasonably common. Ladies could not work without losing their status and thus were completely dependent on the goodwill of their male relatives.**

* * *

 **Chapter 5 Quite an entrance**

Darcy had some difficulty getting his temper under control after receiving Miss Elizabeth's information— _the effrontery of Wickham!_ After their uncomfortable encounter in the main street of Meryton several days ago, Darcy had been sure Wickham would excuse himself from the Netherfield ball, despite Bingley's blanket invitation to all the officers of the regiment. It was a dashed unfortunate circumstance that Wickham should choose to finally pursue a respectable career in the —shire militia when it happened to be quartered near Netherfield!

 _But what the devil is Wickham doing, turning up at the ball when he knows himself to be far from welcome?_ thought Darcy.

After their Meryton encounter, Darcy had been lulled by Wickham's embarrassed reaction to his own incandescent rage. He had expected to be given a wide berth. Clearly, Wickham's sense of shame upon being discovered making up to Darcy's fifteen-year-old sister Georgiana last summer at Ramsgate had been fleeting. Darcy had been within ames ace* of calling the fellow out when Georgie had disclosed the planned elopement.

 _Thank God, I chanced to visit her before it was too late!_ he sighed

In no mood to be sociable, Darcy had retreated to the library to take several deep breaths, when Bingley entered in search of him.

"Darcy! What are you doing here? It is past eight o'clock. Caroline wishes to commence the dance."

"You go ahead, Bingley. I will join you presently."

"But you promised to lead the first dance with Caroline."

"I am afraid I need a few moments to mend my temper."

"What has happened to upset you?"

"George Wickham has arrived."

"That fellow who burnt you for several thousand pounds? Nobody invited him! I shall call some footmen to send him on his way immediately!"

"You do not understand, Bingley. He joined the militia a week ago as a lieutenant. He has come under your blanket invitation to the officers."

Bingley was thunderstruck. "I'm terribly sorry, Darcy. I had no idea! Was that why you rode off so hurriedly when we encountered the younger Bennet sisters with several officers of the militia in the street several days ago? I had put it down to your not liking their giggling."

In response, Darcy tugged at his immaculately pomaded hair and paced a little. "Wickham was discomposed to encounter me in Meryton. I had thought him likely to excuse himself from the ball. I cannot think why he has risked a scene by coming here!"

"Ah!" said Bingley, suddenly putting two and two together. "Well, if he is as mercenary as you described him, I expect he has an eye on Miss Elizabeth's fortune."

"Miss Elizabeth's fortune? Whatever can you mean?"

"Apparently, Miss Elizabeth is an heiress of ten thousand pounds. I just had it from Captain Carter. He has asked her for the first two dances."

"He is pulling your leg*!" scoffed Darcy.

"I do not think so, Darcy. Lady Lucas confirmed it. I understand it only occurred this week. Miss Elizabeth's grandfather or her godfather died—I cannot remember which. Caroline will be livid when she finds out!" Bingley chuckled. "Though it is only half her own dowry. She was thoroughly annoyed to see Miss Elizabeth stepping out of her carriage looking as fine as fivepence* in that lilac silk!"

Darcy stared at his friend, the tips of his ears becoming suffused with pink. His fist came up to his mouth. "This is terrible!"

"I would call it jolly good luck!" said Bingley, failing to understand his friend's line of reasoning on Miss Elizabeth's honeyfall*.

"I have just asked her to dance!" said Darcy, mortified.

"And a good thing too!" approved Bingley, "after your ridiculous behaviour at the assembly, propping up the wall! Why, I couldn't understand why you bothered putting in an appearance at all!"

Darcy, bent on introspection, completely failed to address this salient point. "And I believe she heard me when I made that unfortunate remark!" he said, his hand splaying across his chest.

"Which unfortunate remark?" asked Bingley.

"About her being 'not handsome enough to tempt me'."

"Ah! That one! I thought it might have been the one about her mother having 'more hair than wit'."

Darcy had the grace to blush. He sat down in a chair, clutching its arms, as if determined not to move from the spot. "My damned tongue! I did not tell you, but when we visited Longbourn to extend the invitation to the ball, Miss Elizabeth asked me if she could 'tempt me with some tea'."

"Did she? By Jove! Got her own back!" laughed Bingley. "You can't say you didn't deserve it!"

"Certainly," said Darcy, chastened. "And I had quite resolved to make it up to her by asking her to dance tonight, and now she will think I have done it for the wrong reasons! I cannot go back to the ballroom! You must tell her I am indisposed."

"Come, now!" cajoled Bingley. "You must come back. It will be worse if you snub her a second time! Besides, Caroline will certainly not appreciate being left in the lurch*. Trust me, we shall never hear the end of it!"

As if on cue, there was a brisk knock, and Miss Bingley entered the library.

"Is there a problem?" she enquired.

Bingley was very quick on his feet. "Darcy is having a crisis of confidence," he confided rather disingenuously to his sister.

"But Mr Darcy!" exclaimed Caroline. "There is really no need for this trepidation! Your dancing is estimable! True... everyone's eyes will be upon us! But you must be used to that!" she said archly from behind her fan.

"Come now," she said, grasping Darcy's wrist with her gloved hand and attempting to prise him from his seat. "Everyone is waiting! We must get things started!"

Darcy looked meaningfully at his captured wrist, but when Miss Bingley steadfastly refused to relinquish it, he reluctantly rose and, casting one last pained glance at Bingley, allowed himself to be escorted from the library. Bingley repressed a smile and followed.

Once in the ballroom, Bingley quickly partnered with Jane Bennet while Caroline signalled to the musicians that she was ready to start. Walking past her brother, she took her place next to Darcy at the head of the line with an upward tilt of her chin. Darcy glanced quickly round and spotted Miss Elizabeth talking animatedly to Captain Carter and George Wickham not far away. Wickham seemed to have solicited Miss Mary Bennet as his partner but his eyes were all for Miss Elizabeth. How Darcy wished he could wipe the smarmy smile from the cad's face with his fist!

The music struck up. The couples nodded once to each other before stepping into the first dos-á-dos*. Darcy danced mechanically, occasionally remembering to make eye contact with his partner, Miss Bingley. But his mind was elsewhere, churning, churning. Wickham. Elizabeth. Should he warn her? He hardly knew her!

Down the line, Elizabeth was enjoying being the belle of the ball enormously. She had not been able to find Charlotte in the crush before the beginning of the dance but she had been showered with compliments about her gown. When a chord from the musicians announced the end of the first set, gentlemen bowed to their partners and ladies curtsied. There was a general movement as those wishing to change partners did so. Wickham went off briefly to search for Miss Kitty Bennet whom he had engaged for the second dance when he had found her already promised to one of the ensigns, Denny, for the first.

"Well, Miss Elizabeth!" said Captain Carter, finding his partner again after the progression and filling in the moments before the orchestra struck up again with light banter. "Quite the windfall! You must be over the moon!"

Elizabeth's smile faltered. Was Captain Carter speaking of her inheritance? And if so, how had he come by the knowledge?

"Is it a secret then?" asked the captain, uncertainly. "I beg your pardon if I have spoken out of turn..."

"No," said Elizabeth airily. "It is not a secret, but I would be interested to know where you had your information. Barring one dressmaker in Luton, I was not aware that it had been advertised beyond the walls of Longbourn," she smiled.

"Then forgive me for being maladroit," apologised the captain. "I thought it was general knowledge. I believe that Wickham and I had it from the Lucases."

Elizabeth frowned. She could only presume that Charlotte and Mariah had come visiting while she and Jane had been absent in Luton. Lizzy had no time to reflect on the likelihood of this occurrence before Lieutenant Wickham, who had returned with Kitty, immediately inserted himself into the conversation.

"Heavens, Freddy!" Wickham chided Captain Carter. "You are not importuning the poor lady already!" he laughed.

Despite the lieutenant's light banter, Elizabeth got the fleeting impression that Wickham was annoyed with the captain.

"Just a moment while I take my foot from my mouth, Wickham," joked Carter. "Apparently the grapevine has been a little too en avant."

The musicians struck up again. There was no time for further discussion but as Elizabeth went down the dance, she was aware of a sinking feeling in her stomach. Apparently her new found popularity was not due to her beautiful new dress but her emergence as an heiress. She went through the steps of the second set with a little less elan than the first.

Wickham lost no time in claiming her hand for the third set. The lieutenant danced well, all the while flashing that charming smile that characterised him. Then they progressed and Elizabeth was lost to her ruminations on her partners' motives. Finally the set ended and Lieutenant Wickham returned to claim her arm.

"You are looking a little parched, Miss Elizabeth. Would you like some punch?" he asked solicitously.

"Is there time?" asked Elizabeth, looking around. "The musicians look ready to start the next set."

Wickham laughed. "There is more to a ball than dancing, Miss Elizabeth. We must not have you swoon on the dance floor!"

Elizabeth was tempted to raise her eyebrow at the lieutenant's loaded language. She did not feel in the least like swooning. Either from the heat or his dazzling smile. Instead she remembered her manners, smiled and acceded. The other dancers started without them.

The lieutenant led her to the punchbowl and poured two glasses, saying genially, "Despite the brisk weather we are having, it is fairly warm in here tonight! Quite the crush!"

"Yes, it seems everyone is curious to see Netherfield. It has been some while since it was occupied."

"Could I suggest a stroll on the terrace?" said Wickham, tugging at the collar of his uniform. "It really is a little uncomfortable in here."

Elizabeth had to concede there seemed to be a disparity in the dress code for gentlemen and ladies. She wondered that more men were not beginning to wilt inside their coats and cravats. _Perhaps the bold lieutenant will be the one doing the swooning, she chuckled to herself._

"Certainly," she agreed, quickly retrieving her shawl from a chair, to guard against the night air.

There were already several couples on the balcony including Bingley and Jane who must have walked out onto the terrace after the first two sets. Elizabeth could not help smiling. Mr Bingley certainly seemed intent on keeping Jane to himself. Lieutenant Wickham continued his light agreeable banter, which Elizabeth replied to easily with her quick wit, keeping one ear on the music for the end of the set. But when the final chord played she was quite discomposed when Lieutenant Wickham grasped her glove, preventing her from returning to the ballroom.

"Are you quite ready to go in?" Wickham asked with concern. "You still look a little flushed," he said, bringing his other glove up to brush her cheek lightly with the back of his hand.

"I am promised to Mr Darcy for the next set," she replied, glancing in Jane's direction, only to find her occupied with Mr Bingley. No help there.

"Mr Darcy?" repeated Wickham, leaning his head closer in a confidential manner. His breath brushed her cheek. "I assure you, you are not missing out on anything there. He is a most unpleasant chap."

"I cannot say I disagree with you, Lieutenant Wickham," Elizabeth laughed, taking a step back, "but a promise is a promise and I dare say we need not speak to each other at all."

"Stay!" Wickham cajoled, not releasing her hand. "We could walk down into the rose garden by the light of the flambeaux."

Elizabeth bit her lip as she pondered how she might politely escape. "Have you seen Miss King?" she asked conversationally. "I did not see her among the dancers."

The slight frown flitted across Wickham's countenance again. Miss King was an heiress of ten thousand pounds who had recently joined her relatives in the neighbourhood after finishing her schooling in Bath. After initially favouring Elizabeth at the Lucases' soirée, Mr Wickham had been rather distracted by the heiress's advent. Still, he refused to let go of Elizabeth's hand.

"Ah! You think I am partial to Miss King?" Wickham returned in an arch manner. "I admit I found her conversation pleasant but she returned to Bath yesterday. My heart was but lightly touched and I must now seek consolation elsewhere," he said, fluttering his eyelashes at her.

Elizabeth thought she had never met a more incorrigible flirt. Given that both she and Miss King were heiresses, she was definitely suspicious of his motives. How awkward to be an heiress, never knowing whether gentlemen were making up to you for your money!

"What a shame!" Elizabeth replied. "I had barely got to know her. I suppose she found Hertfordshire rather flat after Bath?"

"I suppose so," said Wickham, clearly not interested in continuing the topic.

"Miss Elizabeth!" came a voice behind them. "There you are! I believe the fifth set is about to start."

They both turned to see Mr Darcy emerge from the ballroom. Elizabeth was relieved when Lieutenant Wickham unobtrusively let go of her hand. Darcy bowed and offered his glove to escort her back inside. Over her shoulder, Darcy gave Wickham a hard stare.

On entering the ballroom, Elizabeth quickly relieved herself of her shawl. The musicians struck up. After a bow and a curtsy, they grasped hands for the 'hey'*. Although only their fingers touched, Elizabeth suddenly became aware of how large Mr Darcy's hands were. Soon it was their turn to go down the line together. Elizabeth discovered that when Mr Darcy did bother to dance, he was very good at it. But when they progressed to new partners, Elizabeth gave a sigh of relief, having done what she had vowed never to do after his insult—dance with the odious Mr Darcy.

As the last note sounded, Lizzy spotted Charlotte dancing with Denny. Flashing a smile down the line to bid Darcy goodbye, Elizabeth was about to make her way towards her friend when she unexpectedly found herself accosted again by her partner.

"Miss Elizabeth, would you like a glass of punch?" Darcy asked.

Elizabeth almost rolled her eyes. She was beginning to wish she had never inherited any money. "I fear I have already drunk too much, Mr Darcy," she said, attempting to go off. "Thank you."

But Darcy was not to be deterred. "Then, could I escort you to the terrace?"

Elizabeth sighed. Having granted the same favour to Lieutenant Wickham, she feared she could not politely refuse. Now she had to stand on the terrace with the odious Mr Darcy!

The shawl was retrieved. They made their way outside. Darcy escorted her to a reasonably private place near the balustrade, well away from the other half-dozen couples standing outside. But instead of fluttering his eyelashes at her or making witty remarks, Darcy clasped his hands behind his back and stared across the balustrade at the flambeaux-lit garden beyond. He proceeded to pull at his gloved fingertips and bite his lips. It seemed a strange way to charm a lady.

Finally he turned abruptly towards her. "Miss Elizabeth, I fear I must warn you about Mr Wickham. I have known him for some time. He is not of good character."

Elizabeth opened her mouth in surprise. _Well_ , she thought, _if you cannot outcharm your competition, you can always try dishing* them. Clearly these two men dislike each other._

Darcy paused to wait for her reaction. When it was not forthcoming, he went on. "I feel it necessary to tell you this because he is outwardly very charming. He has great powers over young ladies. But he is a wolf in sheep's clothing."

Elizabeth nodded. "I would not like to judge on a single opinion, Mr Darcy, but I will keep your warning in mind."

She turned to go but he stayed her.

"Miss Elizabeth... there is something else I must say to you. It was my intention to ask you to dance tonight as an apology for my execrable behaviour at the assembly. I have since discovered that you have become a great heiress. On this, I congratulate you. However, I wish you to know that my motivations were not mercenary."

Quite involuntarily, a giggle escaped from Elizabeth's throat. "And here I was, thinking that it was this beautiful dress!" Then adopting a more serious tone, "Thank you, Mr Darcy. Apology accepted."

As Elizabeth curtsied and withdrew to the ballroom, Darcy was left feeling that as apologies go, his had not been entirely satisfactory. With a single glance at Jane and Bingley who were still making sheep's eyes* at each other, Darcy wandered back to the ballroom. He was intercepted just inside the door by Caroline, closely followed by her sister Louisa.

"Well! I have just discovered that Miss Elizabeth has become a great heiress," said Miss Bingley, eager to be first to impart the news to Darcy in her own manner. "She is to have ten thousand a year!"

Darcy stopped in his tracks. "Ten thousand _a year_!" he echoed in disbelief. "So much?"

"Yes, it rivals your own fortune, but sadly comes directly from trade," sniffed Caroline, knowing the bulk of her brother's fortune and her own dowry to be respectably invested in the funds.

"She is apparently to go up to London for The Season, to stay with her aunt. Unfortunately, her address in Cheapside is unlikely to procure her a voucher from the patronesses of Almack's."

This catty comment elicited a quiet 'no' from Darcy, but before he could say anything further, their attention was drawn to the head footman, who entered the ballroom with something like a broomstick in his hand. It was, in fact, a sturdy crook for opening the transom windows* above the front door and the ballroom, which he had seen fit to deploy to ease the heat and stuffiness due to the crowd. Much to the surprise of those near him, the footman banged the crook on the floor three times in the manner of a mace. Several people turned and a murmur of excitement seemed to emanate from those closest to the door.

The footman raised himself to his full height and, with all the pomp and ceremony he could muster announced, "The Right Honourable Baroness Mickleham, Lady Sempronia Bennet Froome."

Everyone turned to the door in hushed expectation, except Caroline, who whispered to her sister Louisa:

"Did he say _Bennet_?"

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*Ames ace—very close, within an inch. Comes from Amb-ace, pig Latin for 'two aces', the lowest throw in dice. 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue. First recorded in several plays by Ben Johnson.

*pulling your leg—making game of you, hoaxing you.

*as fine as fivepence—The ancient Saxon shilling was a coin worth 5d. "To dress fine as fivepence" is to dress very smartly. The Saxon shilling was a far better coin than those made of tin, lead, and other inferior metals. Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable.

*honeyfall—windfall, financial gain due to good luck.

*leave in the lurch. Abandon or desert someone in difficult straits. This expression alludes to a 16th-century French dice game, lourche, where to incur a lurch meant to be far behind the other players, perhaps like 'go to jail' in Monopoly.

*dos-á-dos—a dance move where the partners circle each other without turning the body. At the starting six o'clock position they are facing each other. Half-way through at the 12 o'clock position they are back to back, hence the name. Called as 'do-si-do' in square dancing.

*hey—a dance move where the partners grasp hands as if shaking hands and then swap places.

*dishing—criticise/defeat.

*sheep's eyes—a lovesick expression


	6. More silk than muslin

**Hallelujah! Pinterest have finally introduced a method for organising boards, so I've starting arranging my storyboards into chapters. This makes them easier to view. For one thing, they are no longer backwards for works in progress.** ** _Cinder Lizzy_** **and** ** _Go Down Red Roses_** **are now reorganised and I will go back and fix my other stories, including the works I am currently proofing,** ** _Sweet Torment_** **and** ** _The Lectrice._**

 **Thanks for picking me up on 'ames ace',** ** _ilex-ferox_** **. I used to hear my uncles saying these Regency slang words but was never sure how to spell them. They weren't in any dictionaries I had access to. Yay for the internet!**

 **Thanks also to** ** _alix33_** **and** ** _Windchimed_** **for spotting bloopers.**

 **Ok** ** _Marabel_** **, so now we have boot/trunk and dickie/rumble as the UK/US splits. The endless fascination of words!**

 **Just finished watching _Alias Grace_ on Netflix and heartily recommend it as a period drama. Not as a romance though. Don't expect a fluffy ending or, at least, the ending I was expecting.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 5 were:**

 **"Dancing with Danger" by** ** _Deanna27_** **,**

 **"Artifice of affection " by** ** _vaarin_** **,**

 **"A wolf in sheep's clothing", "And the games began..." by** ** _Laure Saintyves_** **,**

 **"Hunted" by** ** _nessy22_** **,**

 **"Quite an Entrance" by** ** _Chica de Los Ojas Cafe,_**

 **"Bees Round a Honeypot' or the more prosaic 'Fortune Hunting' by** ** _ilex-ferox_** **,**

 **"The cat's out of the bag" by** ** _Kaohing_** **,**

 **"Dancing by the Numbers" by** ** _Windchimed_** **,**

 **"The Lady Cometh" and "Love or Money" by** ** _FD4me_** **,**

 **"Dances with money" by** ** _Irina-314,_**

 **"Turnabout is fair play", "two turns of the screw", "fresh air" by guest,**

 **"Surprise!" by** ** _intjdarcy_** **.**

 **Quite a few good ones there. I think I will go with "Quite An Entrance" by** ** _Chica de Los Ojas Cafe_** **, as it covers Lizzy as well as Aunt Sempronia.**

 **Synopsis:** _When news of Lizzy's inheritance precedes her to the Netherfield ball, she finds herself the object of unwanted attention. Caroline is busily deprecating Elizabeth's new-found wealth and relations to Mr Darcy when who should walk in? but the baroness herself._

* * *

 **Chapter 6** **More silk than muslin**

Into the ballroom walked a well-dressed lady in travelling clothes, wearing an enormous ostrich-plumed hat. She was neither tall nor short but she moved so gracefully that she might have been on wheels, an illusion that was heightened by her gown that skimmed the floor. It was difficult to guess her age. Her figure was slim but the style of her clothes indicated she was an older lady. When Mr Bennet stepped forward, the crowd parted like the Red Sea* to allow him to approach her.

"Well, sister, you certainly know how to make an entrance!" he smiled.

A quiet hubbub spread throughout the crowd at this sign of recognition by the squire of Longbourn. None of the locals were aware that the squire had a sister, let alone that she was a peeress!

"Matthew!" the lady smiled, showing a beautiful set of pearly white teeth. "How just like you to be out on the day I chose to visit! I arrived to find the house in darkness and the single servant who presented himself from the stables saying that it was the only time he ever remembered the entire family being absent."

"It was dreadfully inconsiderate of me, Sempronia," agreed Mr Bennet. "But a letter might have averted my oversight. Nonetheless you managed to track us down."

"The stablehand fetched his son from the village to guide my coachman—not wishing to leave the estate unattended," explained Lady Mickleham,

"Ah! That would be Jem* and his boy. A good fellow. It is rare that the servants get the evening off. I believe the others are having a get together in the village. Jem doesn't drink. His wife is a presbyterian, so he volunteered to mind the fort."

By this time, Mrs Bennet had stepped forward, with Lydia and Kitty hanging on either arm, which considerably relieved Mr Bennet who had reached the limits of his small talk. More than twenty years of silence could not be easily breached.

"Well, my lady," said Mrs Bennet, keen to make a good impression. "You find us in our finest. I am sure I am very pleased to meet you," Fanny said, executing a curtsy.

The baroness shot a glance at her brother who was busily inspecting the lace at his cuffs. "Charmed," she replied to her new-found sister. With a dazzling smile, Lady Mickleham executed the smallest of dips.

Then, feeling he had acted the part of a coward in not immediately introducing his wife, Mr Bennet attempted to repair the damage: "And here, next to Frances, you see my two youngest daughters, Catherine and Lydia."

Kitty and Lydia performed respectable curtsies, the effect of which was totally negated when Lydia burst out with: "That is a remarkable hat! Did you dye the feather yourself?"

The baroness's only reply to this sally was a wide smile.

The group was saved any further awkwardness when Mr Bingley arrived with Jane on his arm, closely shadowed by Mary.

"And this is my eldest daughter, Jane," announced Mr Bennet with some relief, whereupon Jane executed her curtsy. "And then there is Mary, my third daughter," said he, and Mary gave a stiff but appropriately low dip. "Finally, let me introduce the tenant of Netherfield, whose hospitality we are enjoying, Mr Charles Bingley."

Mr Bingley stepped forward to execute a formal bow. "Lady Mickleham, how good of you to join us! You are most welcome!"

The baroness laughed. "I beg your pardon, Mr Bingley, and thank you for your kind welcome. As I was just telling my brother, I arrived unannounced to visit him and, finding the house shut up, was directed here by his servant."

"Have you travelled far?" enquired Bingley.

"Only from London."

"Well, we would be extremely honoured if you would join us for supper and what remains of the ball."

"Thank you, Mr Bingley."

It was at this moment that Elizabeth arrived, accompanied by Charlotte. Lizzy had stood transfixed near her friend when her destiny walked through the door. All her faculties were directed to observation of her aunt—whether she looked to be an amiable lady—for on this Lizzy's future happiness depended. But Elizabeth soon remembered her manners and, pulling her friend along beside her for support, approached her aunt.

"And this," said Mr Bennet, "is my second eldest, Elizabeth, whom I expect you are most anxious to meet, and her friend, Miss Charlotte Lucas."

Elizabeth and Charlotte performed their curtsies.

On rising to her full height, Lizzy found herself gazing slightly down into Lady Mickleham's eyes. Despite her aunt's lack of inches, Lizzy appreciated immediately that there was something rather formidable about her aunt Sempronia, although it was hard to put a finger on it*. Perhaps it was her carriage—the way she held herself erect—or maybe something steely in her gaze.

"Elizabeth!" smiled Sempronia, "—a grand name, and one that does not ill befit you tonight!"

Elizabeth smiled thankfully at this gracious salutation. Her aunt seemed inclined to like her, at least.

Mr Bingley, who had been nodding happily during the introductions, glanced around in the hope that either of his sisters had appeared at his side. He was disappointed.

"May I place one of the guest rooms at your disposal to refresh yourself, Lady Mickleham?" he offered hesitantly.

"It is much appreciated," murmured Sempronia. "And perhaps I can ask my niece to wait upon me?" she ventured, looking at Elizabeth.

"Certainly," replied Elizabeth with a curtsy. Upon her aunt's turning to lead the way, Lizzy shot a glance of mock trepidation at Charlotte, who met it with one of her placid elastic smiles that seemed to convey resignation and encouragement.

Charles clasped his hands together with a sigh of relief that he had cleared one hurdle but was immediately assailed with the next—he really had no notion how to host such a grand lady. Where were his dratted sisters? He was rescued from further embarrassment by his housekeeper who stepped forward to offer to escort her ladyship. Mrs Nicholls led the way back to the vestibule where Lady Mickleham gave orders to her two footmen for the largest of her trunks to be extracted from the boot of her carriage. This operation was supervised by a very particular maid who had been waiting in the vehicle. Lady Mickleham's party was then led upstairs by Mrs Nicholls while Charles nodding graciously towards his esteemed guest from his position at the base of the stairs. Inside the ballroom, a chattering had rushed to fill the vacuum caused by Lady Mickleham's departure, quickly covered by the canny musicians who struck up again.

As soon as Lady Mickleham's party had disappeared from view round the corner of the landing, Charles gave a frustrated glance around and spotted his head footman.

"Creevey, have you seen either of my sisters?" he asked in an exasperated tone.

"I believe they went into the library, sir," responded Creevey, stony faced.

Charles burst into the library to find his sisters huddled over a book. "Caroline, Louisa, what is the meaning of this?" he asked testily. "A member of the peerage arrives at our ball—which you, Caroline, are meant to be hosting—and the two of you are nowhere to be found!"

"I cannot believe it!" expostulated Caroline, completely ignoring her brother. "How can the Bennets, with their vulgar relations in Cheapside and Meryton, be connected to the peerage?"

"Perhaps she is an imposter, Caroline," offered Louisa. "Her arrival here—such an entrance!—seems too contrived. For sure, Lizzy Bennet is playing a practical joke upon us."

Charles had, by this time, ascertained that the book his sisters were consulting was an old copy of Debrett's peerage. He crossed his arms, having no reason to doubt that Lady Mickleham was exactly who she claimed to be—her dress, entourage and manner of conducting herself proclaimed it. Nor did he think the Bennets a family of actors. "And just exactly what have your investigations uncovered?" he asked his sisters.

Caroline sniffed. "Mickleham is a recreated barony of recent origin, but it says here that the baroness is originally from an estate in Surrey, not Hertfordshire."

"Well, people move around, Caroline! You have told me yourself that Longbourn is entailed. It is possible that Mr Bennet was himself a beneficiary of the entail. In fact, I seem to recall Sir William Lucas telling me something along those lines at his soirée. Enough of this! I have offered Lady Mickleham a chamber to refresh herself. Now get up there and put your expensive educations to good use! Make your excuses before she is offended by your lack of civility."

As much as Caroline deplored being spoken down to by her little brother, she had the grace to look abashed. Exchanging glances, the Bingley sisters hurried from the room.

* * *

Up in the best guest chamber, which she had recently occupied with Jane, Elizabeth soon discovered that her aunt was in no need of assistance in attiring herself for a ball. From the trunk, her dresser had quickly extracted an exquisite gown of blue and pink flowers on a gold silk ground, carefully rolled in tissue paper to prevent creases.

"I hope there is no one here of note tonight, my lady, who will judge me for my efforts," complained her dresser.

"Oh, be easy, Priddy," replied the Baroness. "We did not expect to attend a ball. I am only glad that you packed something suitable."

"Yes, my lady," was all her maid vouchsafed as she tightened her mistress's stay laces from the more loose arrangement suitable for travelling that had been adopted before they set out after luncheon.

Priddy had only just finished this operation when there was a knock and Elizabeth ventured to open the door a crack to discover who might be there.

"It is the Bingley sisters, my lady, come to welcome you to Netherfield," relayed Elizabeth.

"Let them in, Elizabeth," replied Sempronia as Priddy quickly held up a loose wrap for her to shrug into.

Elizabeth stared at this gown which was made of a beautiful hand-painted chinoiserie silk, the material finer than any of her day gowns.

The Bingley sisters entered and performed deep curtsies. At their nadir, unobserved, Priddy shot a basilisk stare at the visitors from under her brows before resolutely ignoring them as she set about plumping her mistresses curls with a cold curling iron, where they had been flattened by her hat.

"Lady Mickleham!" cooed Caroline on rising. "I am Caroline Bingley and this is my sister, Louisa Hurst. Welcome to Netherfield! Please forgive us for not attending you immediately! We were supervising some of the arrangements and had no idea you had graced us with your presence!"

"A thousand apologies," returned Lady Mickleham with equal aplomb. "It was not my intention to disturb you. I arrived unexpectedly at Longbourn to find it deserted and was directed here. Your brother graciously invited me to join you for what remained of the ball."

"And we are truly honoured!" replied Caroline as Louisa nodded her head in vigorous affirmation. "I understand your main residence is on Piccadilly? When in London, we are just a stone's throw away in Grosvenor Street! How extraordinary we have not run into each other before! And your son attended Harrow? Charles went to Eton, you know. Perhaps they might even have run into each other at some sporting matches?"

"I sincerely doubt it," replied Lady Mickleham, immediately bristling at her hostess's encroaching manners, but showing no outward appearance of it bar her hooded eyelids—a sign only recognised by the faithful Priddy. _Either Miss Bingley is an encyclopaedia of eligible males_ , thought the baroness, whose son, the Honourable Freddy Farley, was certainly amongst that august group of worthies, _or she has just cribbed all her information from a peerage_. "My son's favourite sport is chess," said Sempronia drolly.

"And I do not believe we have seen him at Almack's? Have we Louisa?" said Caroline, offering her sister a chance to add her mite.

Mrs Hurst proceeded to shake her turbaned head.

"He is studiously avoiding the married state," proclaimed his mother sweetly, "and as his chambers are at The Albany, I am not mistress of his movements."

"Is there anything we can get you? Some tea or punch?" offered Caroline.

The words were no sooner out of her mouth than Mrs Nicholls arrived with a brass can of hot water.

"Thank you, Mrs Nicholls!" smiled Sempronia. "I believe I have all I need, Miss Bingley. Do not let me keep you from your ball! With my niece's help, I will be down shortly." Without further ado, the baroness got up and made to shed her wrap.

The Bingley sisters took their dismissal with good grace, curtsying, promising to renew their acquaintance downstairs and following their housekeeper out of the room. Priddy, who had gone to the door to hold it open for their departing guests, partly closed it and ascertained through the gap that everyone had departed the hall. She nodded the coast was clear.

The baroness looked at Elizabeth. "What harpies!" she cried. "I believe they looked me in up in the peerage! Who are they?"

Elizabeth laughed in reply to her aunt's frank and accurate assessment of the Bingley sisters, which closely aligned with her own opinion and was in refreshing contrast to Jane's constant excusal of their behaviour. She was beginning to like her aunt.

"They are the daughters of a successful weaver from the North. They attended a very expensive ladies seminary in Bath. Their family's fortune is invested in the funds to rid them of the taint of trade and they go about deploring everyone else's mercantile relations, specifically 'country attorneys and tradesmen in Cheapside'."

"Ah! Is that a reference to your mother's relations?" asked her aunt as she began to sponge herself. "Do you not have an uncle who is an attorney here in Hertfordshire?"

"Indeed, in Meryton, though what harm poor uncle Phillips ever did to anyone, I do not know. And as for my uncle Gardiner, I challenge anyone to find a tradesman better read!" replied Lizzy with some asperity.

"I see the harpies' claws have gone deep!" said the baroness before closing her eyes as Priddy powdered her face.

"To be fair, their brother Charles is a sweet enough fellow or incomparable, depending on who you ask," said Elizabeth in a softer tone.

"Oh, ho! Do I detect a romance?" crowed the baroness as Priddy slipped the gold gown carefully over her head.

"You do!" smiled Elizabeth. "My elder sister Jane quite dotes upon him!"

"And are her feelings reciprocated?"

"If you asked my mother, she would say everything is 'going on like winking'."

"And what of you? Has anyone captured your heart?"

"Oh, no! I am determined not to be married, especially now that gentlemen have suddenly decided to make up to me now that I have a dowry."

"Oh dear. Has it begun already?"

"Sadly, yes. The genie has already escaped from the bottle, although whose loose lips I have to thank I do not know. Here I was, ready to enjoy my first ball in this lovely gown, when I suddenly find myself the object of interest of several gentleman who had not bothered to look my way before."

"Yes, I'm sure it does quite spoil one's enjoyment. So tell me, who are these cads?"

"Well, first there was Captain Carter; he was refreshingly honest about his mercenary motives. Then there was Lieutenant Wickham, who admittedly did show an early interest in me before being captivated by an heiress from Bath. She sadly departed for her home town, so he had to find a new heiress. Finally, there was Mr Darcy who, after cutting me at the Meryton assembly, suddenly discovered I was tolerable when my fortune matched his own."

"Mr Darcy? Not Mr Darcy of Pemberley?"

"The same."

"What is he doing here in Hertfordshire? I was not aware he had a connection with the place."

"He is staying here at Netherfield with his friend Mr Bingley. Mr Bingley is thinking of purchasing this estate and Mr Darcy is assessing the estate's viability and instructing his friend in the way of managing it."

"Well I call that very good of him. I do not know many young gentleman with such a good head on their shoulders; most of them are sad rattles or atrocious ne'er-do-wells. As to his hankering for your fortune, I suppose it is possible. I do not know him very well but even the wealthy are amenable to increasing their fortunes."

"Exactly, I go from a great zero to eligible in a blink."

"So he cut you, you say?"

"He declared me 'tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt him'" said Lizzy in her best masculine tone, "—to dance, that is. Mr Bingley was trying to encourage him to be more sociable, for Mr Darcy would only dance with the Bingley sisters."

"Dear, dear," laughed Sempronia as Priddy retrieved a delicate necklace of sapphires and rubies from a parure and placed it round her mistress's neck. "I had not thought him ill mannered. He has always been excessively polite when I have met him."

Elizabeth gazed at the necklace which admirably matched the flowers on her aunt's dress and looked expensive without being ostentatious. _What exquisite taste my aunt has!_ Suddenly, a new vista opened before her. One in which she was not primped and poked into garish silk creations like those adopted by the Bingley sisters, but led a refined life in London with her aunt, similar to her life here in Hertfordshire, only with more silk than muslin. She tore herself from her daydream to answer her aunt.

"Perhaps his politeness is reserved for those who are worthy," replied Elizabeth drily.

"Well," said her aunt as Priddy finished placing the earrings in her mistress's ears and fastened the matching bracelet of the parure. "We will have to educate him as to who belong to that group."

And so saying, Sempronia thanked her dresser for working wonders as she surveyed herself in the pier glass, took her niece's arm and descended to the ball.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*parted like the Red Sea—an idiom referencing the Israelites' escape from the pharaoh when Moses parted the waters.

*Jem is a given name, sometimes as a nickname for James, Jeremiah or Jeremy

*presbyterian—belonging to a dissenting sect of the Christian church run by a group of elders. Groups broke away from the Anglican Church during the English Civil War. Most modern Presbyterians derive from the Scottish church that followed John Calvin's precepts.


	7. A charming shade of pink

**Suggestions** **for the title of Chapter 6 were:**

 **"Getting to know you" by _Deanna27_ ,**

 **"The Surprise Appearance of the Baroness of Surrey" by _suddenlysingle_ ,**

 **"Let the games begin" by _Kaohing_ ,**

 **"Destiny" "Daydream" or "More Silk than Muslin" by _Chica de Los Ojas Caf_ e,**

 **"Meet with Auntie" or "Between two harpies and an Auntie" by _Laure Saintyves_ ,**

 **"Who is worthy" or "worthiness" or "The good must be put on the dish, the bad you may eat, if you wish" by _nessy22_ ,**

 **"Upping the Ante", or "An** **Unexpected** **Visitation" by _Astarte2016_ ,**

 **"Grand name for lady" by _Irina-314,_**

 **"Auntie Mame err Sempronia" by _Linda Bee_ ,**

 **"Turning the Tables" by _Dizzy Lizzy.60_ ,**

 **"The Rundown" by _AllTheRage1983_ ,**

 **Thanks for all your suggestions. I think I'll go with 'More silk than muslin' by _Chica de Los Ojas Cafe_.**

* * *

 **Chapter 7 A charming shade of pink**

The set was just finishing as Lizzy walked into the ballroom with her aunt. The Bingley sisters rushed to renew their acquaintance and escorted Lady Mickleham to a choice seat, far enough removed from the musicians to conduct a conversation but still very much at the hub of things. After arranging herself, Lady Mickleham indicated that Elizabeth should sit on her right. They were no sooner seated when the party was immediately assailed by Sir William Lucas, with his previously introduced daughter Charlotte on his arm as his carte d'entrée.

"Lady Mickleham, Sir William Lucas at your service," he said, bowing. "May I take this opportunity to welcome you to our little corner of Hertfordshire!"

The Bingley sisters exchanged a look of annoyance.

"Thank you, Sir William," replied Lady Mickleham.

"May I compliment you on your exquisite dress?" continued Sir William. "I have not seen finer at St James! Do you frequent it often?"

Caroline rolled her eyes at Louisa.

"Only at occasional functions with my husband," offered Lady Mickleham amiably.

"Capital! Capital! It is truly an honour to have a guest of the first stare grace our environs!"

"Charmed," replied Lady Mickleham from behind her fan.

Having by then noticed the frosty glares of the Bingley sisters, Sir William quickly went on to compliment Netherfield, the ball and finally the arrangements before the arrival of Mr Darcy allowed him to gracefully relinquish his place to that gentleman.

"Lady Mickleham," said Darcy executing a bow.

"Mr Darcy," said Lady Mickleham, holding out her gloved hand.

He bent to kiss it.

"Come, come," said Lady Mickleham, rapping the vacant seat to her left with her fan and then immediately unfurling it to ply it briskly. "It is long since we have spoken. I believe the last time was at a Royal Society meeting over a year ago."

Darcy obediently sat down beside her. "Indeed, I have not seen you at recent meetings."

Seeing that his audience with the grand lady was at an end, Sir William effaced himself, but Lizzy managed to quietly purloin Charlotte to sit at her side. The Bingley sisters, who had not been invited to sit, also curtsied and took themselves off.

Feeling herself at last free to talk without restraint, Sempronia lowered her fan to lean closer to Darcy. "My husband's gout is increasingly troubling him. His meetings in the City sufficiently tax him that he has taken to spending quiet evenings at home rather than socialising at his club. However, now that my niece is coming to visit, he will have to grant me some indulgence to take her about. After all, it would be a sin to make such a pretty girl live the life of a recluse, would it not?"

Elizabeth was tempted to interject that she was quite happy to live the life of a recluse if she could breathe fresh country air and go every morning for a ramble. Not yet knowing her aunt well, she forbore to make what might be construed as backchat.

"That would depend on the temperament of the lady," replied Darcy, as if he could read Lizzy's thoughts.

Sempronia stared at Darcy, furled her fan and tapped her chin with it thoughtfully. "I believe, Mr Darcy, that since we are here at this ball, I must beg you to grant me the indulgence of a dance. One can never get within reach of a barge pole of you at Almack's, and you dance so admirably! We married ladies have not a chance!"

"Certainly," said Darcy. "Shall we join this set?"

"Let us wait for the next," said Sempronia. "This one must be half over."

They talked of events in London in the interim, mostly those that related to politics. Elizabeth was a little surprised at her aunt's ability to discuss such worldly matters with precision—countering and qualifying each of Darcy's forthright assertions with her own and skilfully shifting the topic once when it was clear an impasse had been reached. A glance at Charlotte showed her equal astonishment. Certainly no female of the Bennet household could hold forth on such topics—Lizzy's brief discussions with her father on literature were the most erudite conversations she could claim. They seemed rather quaint in comparison. Elizabeth was all admiration for her aunt and suddenly gained an ambition to be able to converse easily with gentlemen on matters so steadfastly in their realm.

Finally the set drew to a close and Darcy stood up. Sempronia handed her fan to Elizabeth and took his offered arm. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder.

When the musicians struck up, Darcy was initially at a loss to recognise the music. Glancing around for a cue, he intercepted a satisfied smirk exchanged between Bingley and the lead musician.

"I believe it is a waltz," offered Sempronia, "although one of the livelier German ones, which may not have been exactly what your friend had in mind for wooing his companion," she added sapiently.

Darcy's lips compressed a little but he offered his hands in the correct pose and they began. Around them, confused couples tried to keep up, but after stumbling into each other several times, most soon retired in perplexity. Meanwhile, after a shaky start, Jane and Bingley soon synchronised their steps to twirl beautifully together. Only a few brave couples remained on the dance floor.

Sempronia turned and looked up saucily into Mr Darcy's eyes. The loud and jaunty music was ideal for a private conversation. "I gather you do not approve of your friend's romance with my niece?"

Darcy started. "I just think he should be more circumspect," he said after a pause. They turned into the closed position of the waltz. "It would be wrong to raise her hopes unnecessarily."

"So your friend is a flirt?"

"No," said Darcy. "He is sincere, but too inclined to fall deeply in love with the wrong lady. His sisters have had some difficulty in shepherding him towards a suitable match."

Now Sempronia's lips thinned. Managing females were anathema to her. There had been some resistance to her marriage with the baron from his mother and older sister—with his wealth, they thought he could do better. Thank goodness her husband had known his own mind. "So you think my niece unsuitable?" she said conversationally. "I suppose her dowry is small but her family is respectable."

"I beg your pardon," said Darcy stiffly. "It was not my intention to insult Miss Bennet, but Bingley is trying to increase his fortune. A suitable match not only brings money, it brings good connections."

Sempronia smiled. "And a baroness is not a good enough connection for you and your friend, Mr Darcy?"

Darcy blushed. "Perhaps it is better if I guard my tongue. I do not seem to be able to dance and talk at the same time. I believe all the blood has gone to my feet."

Sempronia threw back her head and laughed. "I am afraid I am not going to let you off that easily, Mr Darcy. A little bird told me that you cut my niece Elizabeth at the last assembly."

Now the blood drained from Darcy's face. "It was not my intention to do so," he explained. "I was merely trying not to raise anyone's hopes at a country assembly."

"Do not worry," replied Sempronia as their gloved hands met above their heads. "I will forgive you, provided you make it up to my niece at Almack's."

"So it is certain? Miss Elizabeth will be returning to London with you?" asked Darcy.

"But of course! I intend to launch her into society in grand style."

"Then I beg your forgiveness and promise to dance with her at Almack's," said Darcy contritely.

"Excellent!" smiled Sempronia and twirled on cue.

From their seats on the sidelines, Elizabeth and Charlotte watched Darcy and Lady Mickleham dance with admiration. Jane and Bingley were doing a marvellous job of keeping up with the more experienced couple, but they clearly lacked their panache. Among the few remaining on the dance floor, only Darcy and his partner looked completely au fait with the steps.

"Is your aunt flirting with Mr Darcy?" asked Charlotte in some awe.

"From his blushes, I suppose it is possible," replied Elizabeth. "I believe he looks almost charming when pink."

"Lizzy," said Charlotte with a dawning smile. "Is it possible you are becoming partial to the odious Mr Darcy?"

"Oh, no!" said Lizzy airily. "But anything that takes him down a peg or two is fine with me. You know, with those barely tamed curls of his, his blushes almost allow me to picture him as a naughty schoolboy. Ah yes!" she said, fixing the image firmly in her mind, "do you think it possible that he ever got a smart rap across his knuckles from his tutor for inattention?"

Charlotte laughed but before she could think of something witty in reply, their tête-à-tête was interrupted by young Mr Goulding, the heir to the nearby estate of Haye Park.

"Miss Elizabeth, would you care to dance the waltz with me?" he asked with a bow.

Lizzy flushed. Now she was put on the spot. She did not know the steps to the waltz very well. The Bennet sisters had only practiced them once, in the saloon at Longbourn at Christmas, under the tutelage of their aunt Gardiner. She hesitated.

"Go on, Lizzy!" urged Charlotte, whispering in her ear. "Be brave! If Jane can manage it, so can you."

Charlotte knew her friend well. This intervention worked wonders. Lizzy thought of herself as the intrepid one—after all, Jane was ascendant in beauty.

Lizzy and young Mr Goulding were soon twirling with spirit on the dance floor. Nearing thirty, Mr Goulding was not a handsome man. His chief deficit was his thin legs, which had earned him the unkind sobriquet of 'spider shanks'. But he was not unattractive, dressed with distinction, and still had much of the comeliness of youth—he hid the developing bald spot at the back of his crown remarkably well. Most importantly, he danced gracefully and without affectation. After intercepting a darkling stare from Caroline, Lizzy soon became aware that they were just as much the focus of general approbation as the two other worthy couples on the floor. This made Elizabeth feel more self-conscious but she kept her nerve.

"May I say how well you look, Miss Elizabeth?"

"Thank you, Mr Goulding. It is my first silk."

"I congratulate you on your taste—a charming gown! And your dancing! Have they allowed the waltz at the Meryton assemblies? I have not been to one recently."

"No sir. Although Sir William may suggest it now it has been introduced to the neighbourhood here at Netherfield. Jane and I were taught the steps by our aunt last Christmas."

"Ah! Well, I would not get your hopes up regarding the assemblies," he said teasingly. "I expect a few old biddies will voice their objections."

"True," said Lizzy. "But I do not think their opposition will stand up to Sir William's enthusiasm."

Mr Goulding chuckled. As they turned, his eye was caught by Elizabeth's sister. "The new tenant of Netherfield seems much taken with your sister."

"Yes and she with him."

"Indeed," sighed Mr Goulding, "it has been my constant regret ever since Jane made her come out that I could not gain her interest. You on the other hand, I have always thought of as the child who attacked my dog. Do you remember it? I was sixteen at the time, so you must have been seven. I brought my new pointer bitch with me when I accompanied father on a visit to Longbourn and she went for one of your chickens. I raced out to find you laying in to the dog with a stick to make it drop the bird. Do you remember?"

"Oh yes! But my efforts were in vain—the poor thing was done for. We had it for dinner that night. When it was clear I had not saved it I took to you with the stick instead and you pushed me into a puddle!"

"Can you ever forgive me?" he laughed.

"It will be asking a lot," said Lizzy with a mock pout.

"Indeed, but I am suddenly very truly sorry. I see your mother's wisdom in dressing you in silk tonight."

"It is very kind of you to say so. I am not sure many would describe Mama's stratagems so."

"Come now. Be serious. I am staying with Mr Fletcher in town to save me the long drive home tonight. Would a call tomorrow afternoon be unwelcome?"

Lizzy was unsure of Mr Goulding's motives. He could be her third fortune hunter for the night or he might just be angling for an introduction to her august aunt. She did not know him very well. "I cannot say what my whereabouts will be Mr Goulding. I am to return to London with my aunt and what her timetable might be, I have not had time to enquire."

"How long is your stay in London likely to be? I will be going up to Newmarket* for a week on Monday. Perhaps I could visit Longbourn after my return?"

"I fear my stay is to be indefinite. I am going to live with my aunt."

"To live with your aunt? Whatever for? Surely your family is not in such desperate straits as to hire you out as a companion?"

Lizzy bristled. Clearly Mr Goulding had not heard of her windfall. Nor had he gained much sense since the infamous chicken incident which could have been averted by properly restraining his foolish young dog or leaving her at home.

She took some grim satisfaction in her next words. "My aunt is to launch me into society—on account of my inheritance."

"Your inheritance?"

"Yes. My godfather left me some money so that I might go about in society and be properly educated."

"Properly educated? What use has a woman, who does not need to study for a profession, for an education? If you were the second son there would be some sense to it. But you are the second daughter! Your mother may be a little silly but she sets a good table. She must have taught you all you need to know for your future domestic felicity."

Lizzy was now properly riled. "My domestic felicity! I assure you, sir, that if setting a good table is to be the sum total of my ambition, I am hardly eager to enter the married state! Indeed, I have discovered a great ambition to study politics!"

Lizzy had turned just as she said these intemperate words, which were flung outwards, directly towards Mr Darcy whose head snapped round towards her. His eyes met hers for an instant, his face as unreadable as a sphinx. At that moment the coda played, signalling the end of the dance. Lizzy could only be glad that her ridiculous words had not been flung into the brief vacuum of silence before everybody started clapping.

Lizzy blushed and remembered her manners. "I am sure you will be always welcome at Longbourn, Mr Goulding, regardless of whether I am there or not. You know how my mother loves visitors.

Mr Goulding bowed politely and went off. Having been forcibly reminded of why he had not bothered to visit Longbourn or attend the Meryton assemblies for quite a while, he resolved to give Lizzy Bennet a wide berth. Regardless of her beauty, he had no wish to marry a termagant. Nonetheless, it had not escaped his notice that all three of the youngest Bennets were in attendance at the ball. He resolved to dance with each of them before the night was out—that bald spot was only going to get bigger.

Lizzy met her aunt as she was escorted from the dance floor by Mr Darcy. As they neared their seats, still warmed by Charlotte, Lady Mickleham retrieved her fan and sat down with relief, leaving Lizzy standing next to Mr Darcy.

"Would you like some punch, Aunt?" ask Lizzy solicitously.

"Thank you, my dear. It is rather hot in here is it not?"

"Certainly," replied Lizzy. "Charlotte, would you like a glass?"

Charlotte nodded and was about to get up to accompany Lizzy to the punch bowl when a gloved hand unobtrusively restrained her.

"Miss Lucas," said Mickleham, "you must tell me a little about yourself."

Darcy understood the signal all too well—his penance was to start now. "Let me help you, Miss Elizabeth," he offered.

Despite Lizzy's attempts to brush Mr Darcy off as they wended their way to the silver punch bowl, assuring him she was capable off carrying three punch glasses, they arrived at their destination together.

"You dance the waltz admirably, Miss Elizabeth," remarked Mr Darcy as a servant ladled the champagne punch into glasses for them.

"Thank you, Mr Darcy."

"You must allow me to dance it with you at Almack's."

"Almack's! You go too fast, Mr Darcy! Perhaps my aunt will not be able to procure a voucher for me?"

"She will get one," he said as they walked back together. "She is a friend of Lady Jersey. They are both in banking."

Lizzy digested this new piece of information that her aunt was friendly with one of the patronesses of Almack's. It seemed her aunt Sempronia moved in the first circles. "And is it not only permissible to dance the waltz after being given express permission by the patronesses?" she asked.

"True, but you are almost one and twenty and generally sensible. Provided you keep your ambition for politics quiet, I have no doubt the patronesses will give you the nod."

Lizzy had no ready reply for this sly sally and could only be thankful that it had been delivered with a spoonful of sugar.

Having returned to their party, Mr Darcy handed his second glass of punch to Lady Mickleham, and bowing, took himself off.

Lizzy was left to contemplate that modifier 'generally' and made a silent vow to be more careful in guarding her tongue.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*au fait — knowledgeable about

*Newmarket—an important horse racing venue in Suffolk run by the Jockey Club, a gentleman's horse racing club founded in 1750.


	8. To London, to London!

**After** **relocating from Melbourne to Sydney for work, I'm back to continue _Cinder Lizzy._**

 **I've finished _Go Down Red Roses_. Please read and review. I will take it down when it reaches 500K views or there has been no review for a month, whichever is sooner. **

**Also, if you wish me to continue _The Raven,_ please review it. Like _Nemesis_ , I will not go forward unless I have ten reviews. There is no point in writing a story few people wish to read.**

 **With regard to a recent review, the entail would not go to Sempronia's son because it must descend through the male line. Otherwise Mrs Bennet would be saved as soon as one of her daughters married and had a son.**

 **Thanks for your corrections, _alix33_ and _Laure Saint-Yves_!**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 7 were:**

 **"Waltzing Around in** Circles" **by** ** _Deanna27_** **,**

 **"A naughty schoolboy" or "Generally sensible" by** ** _Chica de Los Ojas Cafe,_**

 **"Waltz, romance and politics" by** ** _Laure Saint-Yves,_**

 **"Interlopers At The Gate" by** ** _Dizzy Lizzy.60,_**

 **"Twirls and tete-a-tetes" by** ** _lupinsbloggart_** **,**

 **"Permissions and waltz" by** ** _Irina-314,_**

 **"The joys and woes of being an heiress" by** ** _ArkaFa_**

 **I though of "An ambition for politics" based on your suggestion, _Laure Saint-Yves_ and "A charming shade of pink", inspired by your suggestions, _Chica_. I decided to go with the latter.**

* * *

 **Chapter 8** **To London, to London!**

At breakfast the next morning, Mrs Bennet's cup was half full. On one hand, Lizzy had been a stunning success at the ball, much sought after by many eligible gentlemen. On the other, the greatly anticipated announcement by Mr Bingley had not been made and Jane was still unattached. Fanny's tongue ran on wheels, alternately announcing her daughters' various coups in attracting the notice of this or that gentleman and bemoaning Mr Bingley's strange reticence.

Lady Mickleham, not generally known for her silence, looked on in amazement, particularly when Mrs Bennet managed to eat and speak at the same time. She began to study how her relative managed to do this without being unseemly, neither coughing nor chewing with her mouth open. Sempronia concluded Mrs Bennet's judicious dipping of her toast in her tea did the trick, along with a squirrel-like capacity to thrust her food into her cheek at key moments. Her handkerchief also occasionally came into play.

Mr Bennet seemed to bear all this with equanimity though, based on his vague responses to his wife's quests for his opinion, it was doubtful he was truly listening to her monologue. The younger daughters seemed to fill the vacuum at these moments with their expostulations and twitterings.

Finally, Mr Bennet interrupted his wife by clearing his throat during a rare pause. "Excellent! Now I expect my sister wishes to speak of arrangements. You will excuse us, my dear, so that we might attend to business. Lizzy," he said, addressing his second eldest, "do not go far. I will send a servant for you when you are required."

With that, Mr Bennet wiped his mouth with a napkin and got up. He surprised his family by stopping to assist his sister to her feet in quite the fashion of a gentleman. Lizzy observed that Lady Mickleham did not seem surprised by this attention. Upon closing the door of his study after his sister, Mr Bennet set out an armless chair for her on the other side of his desk and gently lowered her onto the seat as she arranged her panniered gown.

"You will have to forgive my wife," he ventured, having performed this office. "Perhaps I have not done enough over the years to check her tongue, but I soon found the task exhausted me. She is a good housekeeper and has given me five healthy children, which is more than most men can reasonably expect. God bless the Queen.*"

"A sterling effort* indeed!" replied Sempronia. "It is a shame that none of them were boys, for I hear that our cousin who is next in line for the entail is quite the nincompoop.*"

"Indeed. Well, we will be in a good way to judge for ourselves, for he intends to grace us with his presence later this week. That is his correspondence on my desk," said Mr Bennet, indicating an open letter dismissively.

Seeing her brother quite oppressed, or as near to it as he was ever willing to show, Sempronia sought to lighten the mood. "Perhaps it is a blessing that you had no sons, Matthew," she replied archly. "It was Lady Elizabeth's* firm opinion that sons inherit their intelligence from their mothers, which might explain some of the nodcocks* with titles who are the current representatives of their lineages—the product of marriages between ageing rakes and beautiful young widgeons.*"

Mr Bennet frowned as he considered this, then shrugged dismissively. "Our cousin is currently residing in Kent where he has obtained a living with a Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Do you know her? She sounds oppressive and he, completely at her feet. He has been instructed to come here to choose a wife from among his cousins, which he casts as a wonderful piece of selflessness and condescension."

"Yes, I do know her," replied his sister, "though not well. Lady Catherine is a widow. Her husband was a banker—that is the connection. She is the elder sister of the Earl of Matlock, quite the termagant."

"Indeed? Thank God, Lizzy has escaped Mr Collins' clutches, or so I hope. I presume by your arrival that you are willing to sponsor Elizabeth? Why no reply to my letter?"

"I apologise for that. The baron was not enthusiastic and I had some trouble getting away—his gout has been troubling him."

"Ah!" said Mr Bennet with grim satisfaction. "So he is not an easy man to handle? You got no more than you deserved, Sempronia."

"Let us not reopen old wounds, Brother. I do not regret my decision to marry the baron, but I admit he has become a little grumpy in his old age, poor fellow. Nonetheless, I think he might welcome Elizabeth, once he meets her. I do not wish to make any promises in advance but I have certainly been impressed with her in our short acquaintance."

"She reminds you of yourself at that age?"

"Yes, very much so."

Mr Bennet nodded sagely.

"Algernon was feeling more comfortable after his doctor bled him for a second time this week," continued Sempronia. "So I took the opportunity to slip away. Until I can enlist my husband's approval, I can only promise Elizabeth a visit. But I think he will warm to her as soon as he meets her. If she does not win his approval, I will undertake to find lodgings for her and a companion, which should at least save you the trouble of coming up to London."

Mr Bennet laughed. "You know me too well, Sempronia. Horrible, noisome place that London is."

"It has its advantages, Matthew, but you were ever the country squire. I believe Longbourn has probably suited you far better than it would ever have suited Basil."

This thought had never occurred to Mr Bennet. He had always viewed his elder brother's untimely death as more of a nuisance that had drawn him away from a career at Oxford, but he now acknowledged the perspicacity of his sister's remark. "I suppose so," he admitted.

"I realise it is rather precipitate," said Sempronia, "but I would prefer to be back in London tonight, if I may. I beg your indulgence... and Elizabeth's, but I promised the baron I would be back as soon as I might."

"I understand," said Mr Bennet, in a charitable mood now the burden of Lizzy's removal had been lifted wholly from his shoulders. "That should be possible. I have already asked Lizzy to go through her effects so that she could remove to London imminently. If you had not appeared, I was planning to go to London myself to arrange lodgings for her."

He pursed his lips, yet a sly laugh manage to escape them. "Nay, I admit it. I intended to abscond during Mr Collins' visit if he became too much!"

They both laughed at this, a laugh that wound back the years to before their rupture.

Finally Mr Bennet clutched his side. He was no longer used to laughing so heartily. "Well, what do you intend? Will you accompany her to balls and such? There is money and enough to engage a companion. Your patronage was the chief advantage sought."

"I would welcome the chance to get out," replied Sempronia. "Freddy moved out to The Albany after he finished at Oxford. The townhouse has seemed rather empty since."

"I suppose he had only a gentleman's education*?" scoffed Mr Bennet.

"Oh no!" averred Sempronia. "A full degree in classics. He was even offered a fellowship but he turned it down. It was his father's intention that Freddy should follow him into banking. Indeed, without Freddy, it would be difficult for the baron to continue to work."

"Well, surely he is in a position to retire and enjoy his old age? Have things come to such a pass that he must need still be working?"

"I encourage him to do so. He has always been so devoted to his work that he has never developed an interest in anything else. It does not do for a gentleman's mind to be idle."

"And a woman's mind, Sempronia?"

She laughed. "Nor a woman's either, but I assure you I have not been idle. I still hold my salons, which the baron has never attended. He always prefers to dine at his club on those nights. Nonetheless, he used to bask in the knowledge that his wife was the wittiest in London, so he did not resent my holding them."

"No doubt, he was held in some awe in his club for being brave enough to marry such a shrew!"

Sempronia laughed. "I do think that was the tenor of the respect in which he was held. I filled the gaps in my very spotty education with three masters a day—in classics, logic and Euclid.*"

"Euclid!" exclaimed Mr Bennet, whose own interests rested firmly in the classics.

"Do you know, Matthew, of the three, it is the one I enjoyed the most," said Sempronia.

"And you discuss geometry in your salons?"

Sempronia laughed again. "Of course not! The subject was recommended to me by Annabella Milbanke* and I do not regret studying it in the least. On the contrary, it has been of most practical use in everyday life."

Mr Bennet shook his head in disbelief but quickly moved to the next point of business. "Shall I have Lizzy called?" he asked reaching for the bell.

"Why don't I go find her?" suggested Sempronia with a impish smile. "Then you can return to your books."

* * *

Elizabeth and Jane were in the garden clipping lavender when Lady Mickleham emerged from the manor house. Her aunt proposed Lizzy's removal to her, cleverly casting the initial stay at her townhouse as an exploratory one, so that Lizzy could get herself settled in London before deciding whether she might prefer her own lodgings. Of a grumpy husband who generally liked things organised his way, there was not a mention.

Elizabeth was a little startled by her aunt's timetable, however. She had imagined she might have as long as a week to get to know her aunt and say her goodbyes to Jane before being carted off willy-nilly to London. Nonetheless she answered her aunt graciously and went off immediately to pack her trunk—this was one that had been newly purchased by her aunt and uncle in Cheapside not two years ago so that Jane and Lizzy might alternately visit them in style.

"Oh, Jane!" sighed Lizzy as she closed the door of their shared bedchamber. "This is our last day together for some time! How can I bear to be parted from you?"

"We have been parted before, Lizzy. Do not worry. Mr Bingley said he particularly wanted to speak to me about something today. Who knows, I may be able to visit you soon as a married lady!"

Lizzy squeezed Jane's hand for the sentiment but was too heartsick to reply. Her comfortable existence was about to be turned upside down.

Together, the sisters packed Lizzy's meagre possessions: the chief of which were five day gowns, a muslin ballgown—cleverly reworked a number of times, a trinket box, three shawls, a bandbox containing several nested bonnets and a very handsome lilac ball gown. Finally, Lizzy picked up her well–worn redingote* and boots.

"Oh, Lizzy! You cannot have a use for those in London!" exclaimed Jane.

"Why not? I have taken them before to Cheapside!"

"But they will not do for Mayfair!"

"Well, they are all that I have got! Are there not parks in Mayfair?—Hyde Park and the Green Park? What if I should want to go for a walk?"

Nothing Jane could say convinced Lizzy to leave her slightly tatty rambling wear behind. Finally, Jane conceded when Lizzy promised to replace them at the first opportunity. The sisters had just closed the lid on the trunk when Mrs Bennet entered.

"Ooh, isn't this exciting girls! Lizzy, you must go straightaway tomorrow to order a new wardrobe of clothes. It is a pity we had no time to go back to Madame Fenelle to outfit you. The modistes in Bond street will be able rig you in the finest style, but you must make sure to wear your silk when you first visit them!"

"I cannot wear a ballgown to a shop!" said Lizzy, rolling her eyes at Jane.

"Indeed, you must!" insisted Mrs Bennet, "otherwise they will know you for a country squire's daughter."

Lizzy understood her mother's point but just laughed. "Is that such a sin?"

Mrs Bennet might have elaborated on her plans for her daughter's wardrobe had she not been distracted upon descrying the amethyst necklace she had loaned her daughter for the ball sitting on the dressing table. "And you have forgotten to pack this!"

"But it is yours, Mama!" replied Lizzy.

"Nonsense, you must wear it with the silk! You know I no longer wear it!"

"But will not Uncle Gardiner be offended, when he gave it to you?"

"Of course not! He will be glad to know it is valued!"

Jane added her entreaties to her mother's and Lizzy was soon forced to add the necklace to her trinket box, wrapped carefully in a cambric handkerchief. Mrs Bennet then proceeded to give all manner of advice to her daughter on matters sundry,* from how to choose the style of her court dress to the way in which to catch the eye of a duke. After an hour of this, Lizzy was ready to tear her hair out in vexation. She was saved only by Mrs Hill's appearance. The housekeeper had been rather disturbed by the squire's request that she should put luncheon out an hour early. Mrs Bennet bustled off to the kitchen to determine what could be managed.

Lizzy flopped back onto the four-poster bed and hugged Jane's pillow to her heart. "Oh, Jane! I do not want to go!"

"Now, Lizzy. You must be brave. Don't you see this is not just a golden opportunity for yourself, but for us as well? With you elevated, our younger sisters will find it easier to make a match, purely for the connections it will bring their suitors."

"Aye, I suppose so," agreed Lizzy, taking a less selfish view of the matter. "And I suppose the Bingley sisters might be nicer to you, now they have met our aunt."

"Lizzy!" remonstrated Jane, still refusing to believe the Bingley sisters were anything but her friends.

Lizzy sat up. "I want this," she said, indicating Jane's pillow, "and you can have mine."

"Whatever for?" asked Jane.

"It smells like you. I will be quite comfortless without it."

Jane picked up Lizzy's pillow and sniffed it. "Surely the scent cannot last long? she cavilled.

"Please?" wheedled Lizzy.

Jane acceded. Two hours later she was waving goodbye to her sister as Lady Sempronia's carriage disappeared through Longbourn's gate.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*Queen Charlotte had fifteen children, thirteen of whom lived to adulthood.

*nincompoop—a foolish or stupid person, possibly a corruption of the French 'nicodème'—a simpleton, by association with the Pharisee of this name, and his naive questioning of Christ; late 17th century.

*sterling effort—excellent, valuable, from a British term for money. From steorra 'star' + -ling (because some early Norman pennies bore a small star).

*Lady Elizabeth—Sempronia is likely talking of Lady Elizabeth Montagu, who formed the Blue Stockings Society with Elizabeth Vessey in 1751. Lady Montagu died in 1800.

*nodcock—A fool; a simpleton. Late 16th century; earliest use found in Nicholas Breton (?1555–c1626), poet. Probably from nod + -cock, possibly a diminutive of 'noddy', first known use 1534. A lot of stupid 'n' words here aren't there? And here I was thinking that 'd' was the dumb phoneme.

*widgeon—this means stupid too, but in an innocent, 'mostly harmless' sort of way.

*gentleman's education—these days, a gentleman's degree is slang for third class honours (ie just scraping through a full degree). During the Regency, gentlemen frequently only studied for two years and did not receive a formal degree, which was intended for true scholars. A degree required passing finals after three years of study.

*classics, logic and Euclid—classics was the study of Ancient Rome and Greece and their languages

—logic was the study of reasoning, which we would now call philosophy; the term was later applied to a branch of mathematics.

—Euclid, we would now call geometry.

*Annabella Milbanke—a Regency heiress and intellectual who was married briefly to Lord Byron. He nicknamed her 'the princess of parallelograms'. Their daughter Ada Lovelace is credited with writing the first computer algorithm for Charles Babbage's analytical engine.

*willy-nilly—whether one likes it or not. early 17th century: later spelling of will I, nill I 'I am willing, I am unwilling'.

*redingote—riding coat with a voluminous skirt that can be draped over the back of a horse. In contrast, a pelisse is more like a modern A-line.

*sundry—of various kinds. This term always confused me when it was used in cricket. What is a score, after all, that is awarded without runs? I always imagined the batsmen doing cartwheels down the pitch or a silly-walk. Thank goodness they seem to use the term 'extra' these days.


	9. Something in the heir

**I apologise for the delay in publishing** ** _Sweet Torment_** **and** ** _The Lectrice_** **. Mostly these have been caused by my search for a new job and my subsequent removal to Sydney. I have also been trying to find an editor for** ** _The Lectrice,_** **which was criticised by several reviewers for its structure. Unfortunately all the appropriately qualified people I have approached so far were not interested, so I may have to end up doing it myself. I hope to get them out by the end of the year.**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 8 were:**

 **"Adieux to Longbourn" by** ** _Laure Saint-yves,_**

 **"Packing up a lifetime" by** ** _Lee3619_** **,**

 **"To London We Go" by** ** _Kaohing_** **,**

 **"Parting is such sweet sorrow" or "London calling" by** ** _suddenlysingle_** **,**

 **"London for Longbourn" by** ** _Dizzy Lizzy.60_**

 **I thought of "To London, to London" (to buy a fat pig) based on your suggestion,** ** _Kaohing_** **.**

* * *

 **Chapter 9 Something in the heir**

To say that her aunt's house on Piccadilly was astonishing was to underrate it. Elizabeth had at first mistakenly thought they had drawn up at the Pulteney Hotel, where the Russian czar had stayed during his sojourn in London. She discovered later that this equally grand building was two doors down. Above an impressive set of steps, a front door of double width and height was flanked by Doric columns of sandstone.

After the footmen from the coach opened the door and let down the step, another footman, who had been waiting on the wide steps, moved forward to hand the ladies out, his coat and waistcoat heavily embroidered with gold thread.

Clouds had already begun to threaten the bright sunshiny morning as they had left Longbourn. But as they neared London, the sky had taken on an increasingly leaden aspect, such that Lizzy had thought a cloudburst imminent at any time during the last five miles. As she stepped from the carriage, she felt the first drop of rain on her face and glanced round at the flagstones to confirm it.

"Hurry!" called Sempronia to Elizabeth laughingly. "I believe we are about to get wet!"

Lizzy complied, thinking she was not in much danger but suspecting the coachmen might arrive at the mews more than a little dampened if she did not. Hastening up the steps, Lizzy entered a vaulted vestibule where she was assisted from her pelisse by a footman. She followed her aunt to a large mirror to draw off her bonnet. As she waited for her aunt's maid Priddy to carefully remove her aunt's plumed hat, all the while clucking over wayward curls, Elizabeth observed the temple-like vestibule with its polished stone columns and tessellated floor in some awe. The house seemed more like a public building than a home. She felt like she was going to the theatre.

"How go things, Jeffreys?" Lady Mickleham enquired of a senior servant who had arrived in the hall as her appearance was being restored. "Did the second bleeding do the trick?"

"I'm afraid not, my lady. The baron seemed well enough yesterday afternoon but did not sleep well last night."

"Oh dear, I will go up to him immediately. Do you think that Dr Huxley should be called again?"

"I think so, my lady. But I will wait till you have seen him. Sometimes it is only your presence that is wanting."

Lady Mickleham nodded. "Jeffreys, this is my niece, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I trust the Green Room is ready?"

"Of course, my lady."

"And where is Mrs Samuels?"

"She begs your pardon, ma'am. She is detained with a tradesman who has come to fix the range."

Lady Mickleham nodded. "Elizabeth, this is the baron's butler, Jeffreys. I will have to introduce you to the housekeeper Mrs Samuels later. Priddy, will you show Elizabeth to her room while I wait on the baron?"

Priddy sniffed, clearly not pleased to be pressed into lower service but bowed courteously.

Lifting her skirts, Sempronia hurried into an inner vestibule and up carpeted stairs. After giving directions to several footmen as to the disposal of the trunks, Priddy followed at a more stately pace, adopting manners more consistent with a baroness than her maid.

Looking about her, Elizabeth saw the inner vestibule was actually a galleried hall, reminiscent in design of a medieval great hall, though decorated with a modern aesthetic with a huge skylight and two magnificent chandeliers.

Priddy noticed her eager curiosity and unbent a little. "The rooms on either side of the gallery are guest rooms. At the front end is the grand saloon where Lady Mickleham holds her salons. It has a very grand view of Piccadilly."

At the top of the stairs, they turned not to the galleries, but to a crooked hall, hidden off to one side. "This is the family wing," Priddy explained as they turned into a long hall. "You are to have Master Freddy's room."

"Oh!" exclaimed Elizabeth. "I would not wish to displace him!"

Priddy unbent still further at this sign of proper obeisance to the family. "Master does not use his room anymore. He resides at The Albany. It would not be appropriate for you to stay in the galleries. The master's guests are typically bankers from the Continent and the colonies."

Priddy stopped at the second door in the long corridor. "The master's room is off at the end and your aunt in between."

Stepping into the room as Priddy held the door open, Elizabeth found herself in a beautiful bedchamber decorated in green, so grand that she might have imagined it a state room. Although the four-poster was no larger than the bed she had shared at Longbourn with Jane, it was decorated in sumptuous brocades, which although different in pattern, somehow managed not to jostle with each other for one's attention. Daylight streamed in from several windows, which Lizzy had not dared to hope for, knowing how the facade of the building rubbed shoulders with its neighbours. Now she understood the significance of the crooked hall.

"Oh! It is beautiful! How could cousin Freddy ever bear to leave?"

"Boys will forever be wanting their own space," said Priddy cryptically. "I expect you will like to rest after your journey. Pull the bell if you are in need of anything."

With that, she departed.

Lizzy would have preferred to do anything but lie on her bed—go for a walk perhaps—but being in a strange house, she felt bound by its rules, of which she was not yet fully aware. She moved quickly to the window and discovered the area outside to be a terrace, pierced by several skylights and occupied by potted plants placed at regular intervals. She saw that access was granted by one of the windows which was a triple sash. After releasing the lock, Lizzy attempted to lift the bottom sash so that she might venture outside. But after discovering it moved freely, she thought better of it—the terrace communicated with the other rooms; her presence there might not be appreciated. As she hesitated, the rain began to come down in earnest and settled the matter. Sighing, she sat down on a gilded fauteuil, feeling almost in a prison cell.

A scuffling next door suggested the arrival of her trunk. Lizzy waited until all noise had ceased, then carefully tried the door on that wall. A peep inside confirmed the room was empty save her luggage. Glad for something to do, she unlocked it and proceeded to empty its contents, taking advantage of the numerous hangers and drawers and looking curiously into the clothes press, which she had not much use for. It contained nothing more than some sachets of lavender.

Finally she returned to the bedchamber carrying Jane's pillow. Placing it on the bed, Lizzy decided to test the interior door on the opposite side of the room. It communicated to a sitting room, a very interesting room in wood panelling housing a variety of objects including a telescope and a large bookcase. As much as she wished to explore there, for she had not brought as much as a novel with her—all those that the Bennet sisters had read had been borrowed from the circulating library—a glance at the opposite wall suggested it was a shared sitting room and not entirely her province. Regretfully she retreated and sighing, lay down on the bed, hugging Jane's pillow to her.

She was startled awake by a knock at the door. Sitting bolt upright and swinging her legs to the floor, Lizzy bid the knocker to enter.

Priddy arrived. "Tea is served, ma'am. If you will tidy yourself quickly, the mistress has asked me to escort you to the master's suites. He is feeling too poorly to come downstairs."

Lizzy started up, hurried to the pier glass and was dismayed by what she saw there—several strands had escaped her bun. Before she could do no more than reach for her brush and wish for her dear sister who might put all to rights in a trice, Priddy had stepped forward.

"If you will allow me, ma'am?"

In two shakes of a lamb's tail,* all pins had been removed, and the whole put right with a few strokes of the brush.

"You are lucky to have a natural wave in your hair, ma'am," offered Priddy as she worked, "which gives a fullness—not so beautiful as your aunt's curls, but easy to work with. My former mistress's hair was such a trial—dead straight and so glossy it would not keep a pin in it. The lengths I was put to!"

Lizzy thanked Priddy for her intervention then followed the maid meekly down the length of the hall, reminding herself to breathe. Although her aunt had done nothing to heighten her trepidation, such as coaching her on her behaviour, Lizzy knew that first impressions were important and the baron unlikely to be in a kind mood. She was used to her father's occasional grumpiness, from which she could usually extract him by her light-hearted teasing, but felt quite unequal to dealing with the poor behaviour of a stranger in genuine ill health.

Priddy straightened herself imperceptibly before opening the bedchamber door. If Lizzy had thought Freddy's room verging on a state room, it was nothing to this. The canopy on the bed was so huge, it seemed to loom over her even as she stepped through the door. Her aunt and uncle were at a table by a window, the tea service already before them.

"Ah! There you are, my dear!" called Sempronia. "Did we wake you from a nap?"

"I beg your pardon if I delayed you, Aunt. I surprised myself by falling asleep."

Sempronia laughed. "Yes! Travelling is insidious. All you are doing is sitting there, yet you arrive at your destination exhausted! I believe it is the constant jolting about that does it. But you have not delayed us—the tea tray has only just been set down. Algernon, this is my niece, Elizabeth Bennet."

Lizzy had by then arrived at the table and performed a neat curtsy to her uncle. The baron wore a periwig. His face was quite fleshy and creased with small lines of pain. But there was something prepossessing about him and Lizzy could see that he would not have been unhandsome in his younger days. As she rose, she noticed he was sitting in a wheeled chair and seemed to have one leg elevated under a blanket.

The baron gave her a nod. "I am pleased to meet you, Elizabeth."

"The doctor has just left, Lizzy," confided Sempronia, "so Algernon is feeling a little more comfortable. Will you pour for us, my dear?"

Elizabeth sat down and promptly took charge of the teapot. Sempronia smiled to herself as she watched Lizzy pour. Her niece's whole appearance and deportment spoke the lady—the dainty white hands, her delicate and practiced movements, her calm accomplishment of her task.

Having acquainted herself with her niece in conversations in Hertfordshire and during the carriage ride back to London, Sempronia carefully steered the conversation towards the classics, knowing both parties to be interested in the topic though neither was an expert. Never having attended university himself, the baron's knowledge had been acquired secondhand via his son while Lizzy had had the benefit of informal tuition from her father. Artlessly posing pertinent questions so the conversation never flagged, a skill well honed by her salons, Sempronia was pleased that Lizzy acquitted herself well. By the time the last petit-four had been consumed, the frown had lifted from the baron's face. When Sempronia suggested the baron could do with more rest after his disturbed night, Lizzy politely excused herself.

"Well?" asked Sempronia when the door closed after Lizzy.

"She reminds me so much of you at that age," said the baron immediately. "Not as beautiful, of course, but a bright and sparkling wit."

Sempronia smiled at his flattery. "You charmer!" she crowed. "She is every bit as handsome as I ever was! I think there is something almost Grecian about her nose. She gets that from her mother, you know."

"I prefer my English rose," he said, touching the tip of Sempronia's slightly retroussé nose.

Sempronia stroked his gnarled and spotted hand. "But it is the wit, I think that is the chief attraction. She is very much Matthew's daughter."

"I will have to take your word for it, my dear. Not being more than acquainted with your brother, all I can see in her is you."

"So you will let her stay a little longer? So that I might help her find her feet in London?"

"My dear, if she is as pretty-behaved as that all the time, she may stay for eternity."

Sempronia leaned over to give him a kiss, then called Jeffreys and the baron's valet Stevens to help settle her husband back in bed.

* * *

Finding herself once more alone in her bedchamber, Lizzy could think of nothing else to do but begin a letter to Jane, though her sister had insisted on beginning the correspondence. Nonetheless, Lizzy thought she could usefully record her first impressions of Mickleham House. She had brought a pen and paper with her but no ink, not having a necessaire* and thinking it risky should the bottle leak. Nonetheless, she found all that she wanted in a desk in her room and soon set to work, stopping often to daydream of what the future might hold as the rain pattered outside.

Almost an hour later there was a knock and her aunt entered the room wearing a fresh gown.

"I'm so sorry to neglect you, my dear," apologised Sempronia. "The baron has finally drifted off to sleep, so I thought I would show you the house."

The townhouse turned out to be magnificent, more resplendent than Netherfield, but packed onto its tiny lot in Mayfair. The ground floor consisted of the baron's study fronting the street, from which he could conduct business now that he no longer attended the City six days a week. It was occupied chiefly, Sempronia advised her, by the baron's secretary and the occasional clerk. Adjoining it, behind the stairs, was a long thin library, where Lizzy could attend to her lessons once the masters were engaged. Across the vestibule from the study stood a large parlour and morning room where they typically took breakfast. Behind that was a dining room that could seat twenty. Further back was a huge ballroom where Lizzy could be tutored in the latest dances. Its skylights were those that thrust up through the terrace above. The ballroom let out upon another terrace and a large manicured garden at the back where at least one fountain played. This was a considerable surprise. Lizzy had not expected as much, and more than all the handsome rooms and expensive furniture, the garden convinced Lizzy of her uncle's vast wealth. She longed for the rain to stop so that she might explore it.

Finally her aunt showed Lizzy her own bedchamber and their shared sitting room. Her aunt's room was a charming confection in peach, devoid of ostentation. But it was the more masculine shared sitting room which was of chief interest to Lizzy.

"Feel free to read the books," urged Sempronia. "There are romances as well as books on pirates. Freddy's tastes are quite catholic. He always liked to catch up on the latest novels when he was up from Oxford. He still borrows the latest but will not keep them in his rooms where his friends can see them."

"And is the telescope also cousin Freddy's?" enquired Elizabeth.

"Yes, perhaps he can show you a thing or two when he arrives. Unfortunately you cannot see some of the fainter objects since they have installed the gas lighting in the street. He keeps the telescope here because he does not have a terrace at the Albany."

Access to the novels was, of course, welcome and helped to keep Lizzy occupied in her aunt's absences when she was tending to the baron, helping him to catch up on his work, which had been neglected during his latest attack of the gout. His secretary spent half his day in the City.

The rain continued for three interminable days during which the much anticipated letter from Jane failed to arrive. In consultation with her aunt, Lizzy occupied herself in engaging a maid and determining which masters she should engage. In addition to the academic subjects she had chosen, Sempronia thought it would be wise to cultivate some feminine arts. Thus masters in piano and watercolours were the first to present themselves at the townhouse, being more readily obtained than the scholars. At her aunt's behest, Lizzy also began to read to the baron in the evenings. Sempronia had claimed her throat was a little ticklish, though Lizzy could see little evidence of this. But her aunt sat by, occupied with needlework as Lizzy read.

As Jane was generally so reliable, Lizzy had begun to fear her sister might have fallen ill again by the time the tardy letter was finally handed to her on a salver by a servant. She broke the seal to find a crabbed hand that was barely recognisable as her sister's. Scanning the salutation quickly, she began:

 _"You must forgive me, Lizzy, for not writing immediately as I promised, but things have been so uncertain here that I felt it would be better to wait. Mr Bingley did not arrive after you left as he had indicated. When it began to rain in the afternoon, I thought he had merely postponed his visit on account of the weather. But Thursday came and still he did not appear. I began to worry that he had perhaps been taken ill. On Friday, I determined to write to Caroline and Louisa for news but before I could do so, a message was delivered from Netherfield by footman. Lizzy, I felt that I had awoken from a fantastical dream, for in it Caroline wrote that they had already gone off to London and that Netherfield was, once more, to be shut up. It seems that country life does not suit them._

 _"Mr Bingley, for I feel I no longer have any right to call him Charles, went up to London with Mr Darcy on Wednesday morning on an urgent matter of business and does not plan to return. His sisters and Mr Hurst have gone after him. The thing that shocked me most of all was that Caroline declared that her brother had in interest in Miss Darcy—so much so, that she hoped they would soon be betrothed. Lizzy, I feel like an utter fool. Did I mistake flirtation on his part for sincerity? Are town manners so different from the country?_

 _"I will not speak on it anymore for it upsets me, even more so after Mama was thrown into great agitation when I disclosed the news. Once she calmed down, she assured me there must be some mistake. Nonetheless, she was thrown into a new agitation at dinner when Papa announced that our cousin, Mr Collins, is to visit us. Perhaps I should not write this—please burn this letter after receiving it—but Mama at first vowed he would not be let in the house until Father was carried out in a box. You can imagine Papa was not pleased. But then he explained that our cousin was coming to Hertfordshire to look for a bride. This changed the whole complexion on the matter for Mama. When she looked at me speculatively I began to fear that, having failed to secure Mr Bingley, I was to be sacrificed to our cousin on the altar of Longbourn. Oh dear, now I am beginning to speak like you in your absence. I will not cross it out as it will make it untidy. Please, burn this letter._

 _"Let me reassure you before you become indignant, Mama came to me the next morning to tell me that she had settled everything: Mr Bingley was sure to be back—she had never seen anyone so stricken in love; one of the younger girls would do for Mr Collins. Indeed, being a clergyman, she thought Mary would suit his sensibilities nicely._

 _"Oh, but what a night I spent with no one to counsel me! I miss you so, dear!"_

Missing her sister terribly and feeling a pang for her, Lizzy brushed a tear from her eye. Upon resuming the missive, she noticed Jane's writing in the next paragraph had regained some of its customary elegant loops.

 _"Please forgive me, Lizzy. After writing the above I intended to send my letter straight away after luncheon, but mother detained me in the parlour to help with stitching a new white muslin for Mary—she could not like the grey and blue calicos Mary has adopted for day wear. After reading my depressing missive over, I realised the least I could do is provide you with a description of our cousin before sending this off rather than leave you only with my anxious speculations._

 _"He arrived on Monday. What can I say to recommend him? Oh, Lizzy! You are well out of it! His eyes were cast immediately upon me. Despite my best efforts, I blushed and blushed again throughout afternoon tea. There is something so avaricious in his looks. Papa was watching him intently and seemed vastly amused by the whole ordeal. In retrospect, I believe our cousin was also very pompous, speaking much of his patroness and her grand estate, but I was too discomposed to think on it at the time. I can only hope he is not like this ordinarily and seeks only to recommend himself to us._

 _"After tea, Mama sent us girls out into the garden but detained Mr Collins a while longer. All praise to her, but she must have somehow conveyed the delicate situation to him. When he came out he gave a sharp look my way but then devoted himself to the others. I fear to say that Kitty and Lydia did not behave well. They found his attentions hilarious. At first, he thought they were laughing at his little jokes—although they are hardly worth that designation. After a while I believe he began to suspect that they were laughing at him rather than with him and I was moved to intervene and display some interest in his discourse. Finally I saw his interest settle on Mary, who had been listening quietly the whole while, not giving him much encouragement but nodding slightly to show her attention._

 _"I should finish now to get this to the receiving office* in good time. Please forgive me for delaying this crucial first letter. I will endeavour to write every day now. Please favour me with a reply._

 _Your loving sister,_

 _Jane_

Lizzy folded the letter carefully and returned it to the desk. Though there was a fire burning in the grate, she had no intention of consigning Jane's cherish words to the flames.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*two shakes of a lamb's tail—no time at all

*necessaire—a small ornamental case for transporting necessary things eg writing implements or toiletries. These days we tend to put things in bags so they can fit into suitcases.

*receiving office—the post office. Postboxes were not in common use until the 1850's. A mailbag was instead kept at a receiving office and thrown up onto the London mail as it sped through the village.


	10. New-found friends

**Lizzy's income is £10000/year, the same as Darcy. Bingley initially got it wrong; he assumed her fortune was a lump sum in the form of a dowry, which was a more common arrangement for heiresses then.**

 **Thanks to** ** _alix33_** **for corrections.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 9 were:**

 **"Settling in" by** ** _Deanna27_** **,**

 **"Something in the Heir" by** ** _suddenlysingle_** **,**

 **"First impressions" by** ** _Laure Saint-Yves_** **,**

 **"Of New Hopes and Crushed Dreams" by** ** _Chica de Los Ojas Cafe,_**

 **"Lap of Luxury" OR "Strange Men in Need" by** ** _Emily Woods,_**

 **"Highs and Lows" by** ** _Dizzy Lizzy.60._**

 **I thought of "Of cousins and correspondence".**

 **Oh, very good** ** _suddenlysingle_** **! I'm not sure that it entirely fits, but I do love puns. I may recycle it for a later chapter though, if a more appropriate one comes up. Actually I was watching** ** _Jane Eyre_** **recently with my husband when he pointed out her name was a pun!**

* * *

 **Chapter 10 New-found friends**

When Lizzy came down to breakfast on the next morning, with her hair carefully coifed by her new maid in a dashing style of the latest mode, she was feeling more cheerful. The sun was shining and there was every prospect that today she would get out of the house and see more of London. Her cheer was short lived. Upon entering the parlour she was informed by Mrs Samuels that the mistress would be sleeping in, as she had been up tending to the master's gout again in the middle of the night.

Having consumed a hearty breakfast of ham, eggs and tea in stately solitude, Lizzy could not bear to be inside a moment longer. Slipping up to her room, she was relieved to find her maid absent. She pulled on her boots and redingote with all haste before her abigail could return. It was her intention to walk in the Green Park which, from her aunt's saloon, had been so temptingly displayed before her beyond the press of vehicles on Piccadilly. She thought she might possibly go as far as Hyde Park. Lizzy knew enough to keep away from that part of the park that abutted St James Park, which was predominantly a gentlemen's area.

However she was rather in dread that if her project became known, she might be thwarted or, almost as bad, have her footsteps dogged by a footman. But when the baron's secretary Mr Peabody arrived at eight as she was coming down the stairs from her bedchamber, Lizzy contrived to slip out the front door when the footman followed him into the study.

Once in the street she looked in dismay at the traffic. The crossings were by no means as dense in this more open area of Piccadilly as they were in Cheapside. Nonetheless, by walking towards the City,* she found a kindly crossing sweeper* and pressed a shilling into his surprised hand.

Green Park* turned out to be rather underwhelming, displaying neither the expected manicured formality of the gardens of Netherfield nor the wild beauty of her rambles in Hertfordshire. Thoroughly disappointed by the time she arrived at the gates of Hyde Park, Lizzy felt tempted to go further.

Through the gates she went and was soon pleased by the sight of the Serpentine. Finding a bench, Lizzy sat down and contemplated the waterbirds going about their business. This was better! But she had not long been there, drinking in the sunshine and more pure air to be found in the vicinity of nature when a bark behind her announced a newcomer. She turned to see a huge something bounding towards the water, dragging a bonneted lady, who staggered behind him, unable to get any purchase on the ground. Lizzy at first thought the animal was a small bear but on closer inspection, it revealed itself to be a Newfoundland dog.

Quite unafraid of the animal, which Lizzy could see was only in high spirits, she stood to render what assistance she could and thus distracted the dog from its mad rush towards the water. It came bounding instead towards her, wagging its bushy tail enthusiastically. Before the young lady could do more than utter a shriek of dismay, the dog launched itself at Lizzy. She was quick enough to put her hands up to catch the dog's paws, sparing herself the worst of the muck. But the dog's momentum was too much for her and she went staggering backwards before she found her ground, her gloves thoroughly besmirched.

"Oh, Newfie! How could you!" cried the lady. "Oh, ma'am, I am so sorry! Your gloves are likely ruined!"

Lizzy meanwhile was trying to avoid being licked. "Sit! Stay!" she commanded fruitlessly.

Using all her weight, the young lady managed to drag the dog back down onto its four paws with the leash, whereupon it obligingly 'sat'. By this time Lizzy had managed to get hold of its collar. The young lady thanked her profusely and, releasing the leash so that it merely hung rather precariously round her wrist, began to rummage around in a large reticule. The dog looked at her expectantly and its jaws opened to a huge smile when she withdrew something wrapped in a wax cloth, which revealed itself to be a large bone.

"There!" she said, throwing the bone down on the ground.

The dog fell upon it with gusto.

"Oh dear!" she said turning to Lizzy, clearly distraught. "Are you all right? I am so sorry about your gloves!"

"Do not concern yourself!" Lizzy assured her. Despite the lady's admirable height, she was clearly quite young, probably only just out. Her clothing was of the first stare.* It seemed surprising she was not accompanied by a maid or footman but Lizzy supposed she was unlikely to be waylaid due to her canine companion. "It is just a bit of dirt and some grass stains," Lizzy went on. "My maid should be able to get it out."

Relieved of her immediate concern, the girl frowned down at the dog. "Heavens! I'm not sure if one is allowed to feed dogs in the park! I only brought the bone as a treat afterwards, to help me get back into the townhouse." She glanced around anxiously. "Do you think the ranger will object?"

"I think he would object more to having a few of his waterbirds plucked," Lizzy assured her. "The bone shows enormous foresight."

The girl grinned appreciatively. "Do you mind if I join you? I expect we won't be going anywhere until he has finished that bone."

"Please do," said Lizzy, now wishing she had worn her newer pelisse after all. "And forgive my attire, I was not sure how dirty it would be after all that rain."

"Oh! That shows great foresight! And it is just as well!" said the girl, "—given what has happened. My maid will not be happy with me," she said, ruefully inspecting the wet and dirty hem of her beautiful pelisse. Her attention slid to Lizzy's footwear. "Those look like very comfortable boots!"

This compliment sat very well with Lizzy. Finding a lady of her own heart, they conversed very amiably in the sunshine for what seemed like a short time, watching the waterbirds and occasionally looking at the dog when it uttered some guttural sound as it worried the bone.

But when the dog's interest in the waterbirds reanimated, Lizzy was forced to grab for its collar when it rose on its haunches.

"Oh dear!" said the girl consulting an expensive-looking pocket watch. "It is almost ten! How time has flown! I had better be getting back! I did not tell them I was going out! Thank you ever so much for helping me! I am Georgie!"

"Nice to meet you, Georgie. I am Lizzy!"

They shook hands. Then the girl got up, picked up the forgotten bone in an old newspaper she had retrieved from her reticule and turned in the direction from whence she had come. Her companion had other ideas.

"Come on, Newfie!" she called encouragingly. But the dog was watching the waterbirds with pricked ears, clearly intent on extending his promenade.

"Let me help you get him started," suggested Lizzy, releasing the leash.

Getting up, she ran in the direction the pair had come from, then turned and slapped her thighs. "Come on, boy! Come on!" she yelled encouragingly.

Gratifyingly, it was enough to garner the dog's interest. He set off towards her. Lizzy turned and continued to run in front.

"Which way should I go?" she yelled over her shoulder.

"Towards the Grosvenor Street gate!" returned the girl, pointing.

Lizzy continued to jog steadily ahead of her companions until she reached the gate, then stopped to allow them to come up with her. It had been her intention to bid her companions goodbye there before walking back towards Piccadilly inside the wall along the edge of the park. Straining at his leash, the dog greeted her with an enthusiastic bark. While he had clearly found the sedate lope he had adopted to keep up with her quite invigorating, Lizzy was dismayed to find her new acquaintance quite out of breath.

"Oh dear!" said Georgie, clutching her side. "I am not used to such vigorous activity and these shoes were entirely the wrong thing to wear," she said, inspecting the soles of her footwear which had Louis heels*. "They have no grip on the flagstones, twist on the cobbles and sink into the turf!"

Lizzy now more fully appreciated Georgie's previous compliment on her footwear. "Perhaps I could take him for a while?" she offered.

"Oh! Would you?" asked Georgie eagerly. "I must admit I completely overestimated my ability to control him! I live in Grosvenor Square. Is it very far out of your way?"

It immediately flashed into Lizzy's mind that Mr Darcy lived in Grosvenor Square. Miss Bingley's constant allusion to it during Lizzy's stay at Netherfield meant it was hardly a fact that would have slipped her mind in the short interim since that event.

"No, not at all. I am on Piccadilly," she continued smoothly. She supposed she could enter his square with impunity. It was not entirely his domain, after all. Indeed, the chances of actually meeting him were remote and should he even chance to be looking out his window, he would merely see two bonneted ladies walking a dog.

Georgie gratefully handed over the leash. After the dog had refreshed himself from a puddle after his run, they set off over the crossing on Park Lane.

"Are you staying at the Pulteney?" Georgie enquired.

Lizzy laughed. "You guessed I am but newly arrived in London?"

"Well," admitted Georgie, feeling she had been a little impertinent. "I have not seen you before."

"I am staying with my aunt at Mickleham House."

"Oh! You are a relative of Lady Mickleham! I wish my aunts were so elegant! My aunt Catherine is so old fashioned! And poor aunt Matlock is sadly faded. Your aunt always looks so young and fashionable, even though she still wears those court gowns!"

"Yes," said Lizzy, considering this. "I suppose it is because she has her gowns made up in the latest fabrics and never wears caps. She told me she does not think high-waisted gowns flatter any but young willowy damsels—much like you, I suppose."

"Me!" squawked Georgie. "I may be tall, but I have no figure at all! My maid is put to great lengths to fashion any sort of décolletage at all for evening functions!"

Lizzy smiled but was unable to make any reply to this, for at that moment a carriage went past and she was hard-pressed to stay on the flagstones when Newfie suddenly lurched towards it. Georgie grabbed for the leash and their combined weight proved enough to stay him.

"Sorry!" Georgie apologised once the emergency was over. "I forgot to say that he likes to bite the wheels of carriages!"

"What abominable manners your dog has!" observed Lizzy, straightening her coiffure, which had been knocked askew by Georgie's shoulder in the struggle.

"Oh, he is very young," explained Georgie. "I only got him two days ago from my cousin Henry. I do wish he had trained him a little better before handing him over. He cost me my entire pin money for this quarter! He is a birthday present for my brother!"

At that moment, they reached the place where the street opened up into the square and Lizzy saw that Grosvenor Square was enormous—much bigger than the nearby Berkeley Square where the Gardiners had taken her last summer to try an ice at Gunter's. She breathed a sigh of relief. The chances of meeting Mr Darcy in such an expanse of real estate were infinitesimal!

"What a good sister you are!" Lizzy joked, "—spending all your pin money on your brother!"

"I am afraid I am a very bad sister!" said Georgie. "My brother's birthday was in May!"

"Well," said Lizzy, jovially. "I expect there wasn't anything worth buying in May. November is a much better month for purchasing things! Indeed, puppies come in their own good time!"

"I'm afraid I was rather preoccupied in May," said Georgie. "And very naughty. Newfie is my attempt at an apology."

Lizzy caught the serious tone in the girl's voice and chose to steer the conversation away from the clearly painful topic.

"I'm afraid you will have to think of a better name for him than Newfie!" she said in the arch manner she employed when cajoling her father, which seemed never to give offence. "I demand you think of something more original!"

Georgie laughed. "It is only a temporary name. I intend for my brother to name him. What a pity Brother had to race off to Rosings and thus missed when Henry delivered him. Then I would not have felt obliged to take Newfie out for this walk! Poor thing! He has been cooped up inside for two days!"

At that moment they arrived at the base of the steps of a grand townhouse. "Oh dear!" said Georgie, confronted by the next problem. "I was going to sneak back in via the area steps, leaving the dog in the courtyard with his bone. Now he has already chewed on it, he'll probably make a fuss if I leave him alone outside for a few minutes while I contrive to unbolt the front door to take him through that way."

"Well, I could hold him for a few minutes while you do so," offered Lizzy.

Georgie considered for a moment. "Then, you must come in afterwards to fix your hair. I cannot let you go off like it is—the ribbon has almost fallen out! I know! Perhaps there is no need to sneak inside anyway. We can say that we went for the walk together! I met you at Lady Sefton's Ball last week!"

Lizzy would have demurred. She was not inclined to tell fibs. Nor did she feel she had any right entering Georgie's townhouse on so short an acquaintance. She would have preferred to first leave one of her new cards, which had been delivered from the printers yesterday. She had unfortunately not brought any with her because she had not yet purchased a card case. Her dilemma was solved when the townhouse's door opened of its own accord.

"Miss Georgie!" cried an aged footman. "What on earth are you doing out there!"

"Fletcher! I just took the new dog for a walk with my friend, Miss... Elizabeth!"

"Bennet!" added Lizzy.

Fletcher looked at them dubiously. "Well! You had better come inside! The master will have my head if he ever discovers you slipped out without my knowledge!"

Georgie merely smiled invitingly at Lizzy and, securing the dog's collar, proceeded up the steps.

"Well, as he is at Rosings, Fletcher," said Georgie as she stepped onto the parquetry floor of the vestibule, "I won't tell him if you don't."

Fletcher had no time to reply to this sally. He had immediately begun to search out a rag in the closet to wipe down the dog's paws, all the while grumbling about scratches and mess.

Lizzy had no sooner followed Georgie into the vestibule than a familiar voice rang out. "What won't you tell me, Georgie?"

In the resulting confusion, both ladies forgot themselves. Georgie let go of the collar with a gasp and Lizzy dropped the leash. Untrammelled, Newfie hurled himself at the promising newcomer, whose breeches and top boots announced him to be a good fellow of the same sort as his former owner and playmate, Henry. His paws landed squarely on the taught mushroom-coloured fabric that graced Darcy's well-muscled thighs.

For Lizzy, with her ribbon dangling precariously from one side of her head, it was a moment that seemed to stretch out to eternity.

"Happy birthday, Brother!" said Georgie, trying to put the best face on things.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*crossing sweepers cleared animal manure from passing vehicles out of the way for pedestrians. They might also lay planks over puddles.

*Green Park was landscaped by John Nash in 1820

*Bath gate—located near what is now Hyde Park Corner, the Bath gate was on the road to Bath and located close to the toll gates. The toll gates were dismantled and sold in 1825 because they were impeding traffic. In 1827, the Bath Gate was replaced by Aspley Gate by Decimus Burton.

*City—the capitalised form refers to the Medieval part of the city which was still bounded by walls in the Regency. It has its own government and police force and the Queen has to request permission to enter. Despite the gates now being removed, it still is a separate entity and the heart of the biggest financial district in the UK or the world.

*first stare—highest fashion

*Louis heels—heels made fashionable by the King Louis XIV (5ft 4''). See Pinterest board.

*Gunter's—a famous patisserie and ice cream shop.

*area steps—external steps leading downstairs from the pavement to the kitchens, the service entrance.


	11. Happy Bearday

**Nice catch,** ** _ilex-ferox_** **and** ** _Windchimed_** **. Another amusing mistake from auto-complete, and they are so easy to overlook when you are proofing! They don't look or sound wrong.**

 **Well I wasn't specifically thinking of 101 Dalmations,** ** _austen16_** **. I can't even remember what happened exactly. Didn't their dogs get them entangled in their leashes in the animated version?**

 **Thanks to** ** _FD4me_** **for the interesting facts, neither of which I knew.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 10 were:**

 **"Dogged Luck" or "Serendipity" by** ** _Lee3619_** **,**

 **"Escapade" by** ** _Kaohing_** **,**

 **"One Big, Messy Surprise" by Clara84,**

 **"Paws for the Course" by hlrg,**

 **"And they called it Puppy Love" by** ** _Deanna27_** **,**

 **'Bone of Contention' or 'New-found Friends' by** ** _ilex-ferox_** **,**

 **"A dogged mess" or "A new leash on life"or "A bone to pick" by** ** _austen16_** **,**

 **"New free and sheep...ish Ladies" by** ** _Laure Saint-yves,_**

 **"The Accidental Tourist" by** ** _Dizzy Lizzy.60,_**

 **"Dogged Encounter" by FD4me,**

 **"Darcy Dog Dilemma" by guest,**

 **'New-found Friends' by** ** _ilex-ferox_** **was pretty good. I think I'll go with that.**

 **Darn it,** ** _Deanna27_** **! Now you've got me humming that bloody Donny Osmond song!**

* * *

 **Chapter 11 Happy Bearday**

Lizzy always maintained that you could tell a lot about a person by how they reacted in a crisis. In Mr Darcy's place, her mother would have fallen into hysterics and gone on about her discomfort for a week. Her father would likely have turned his back on the company and walked out of the room, to never mention the embarrassing incident again. Having commanded the dog to the floor where it crouched abjectly, grovelling at his feet, Mr Darcy merely raised his eyebrow at his sister.

"My birthday?" he queried.

"Y-yes! Happy Birthday! I know you missed old Tom when he died last year, and I thought you would like a new dog. So I bought him from..."

"Don't say!" said Darcy, holding up his hand. "Let me guess... cousin Henry?"

"Yes!"

"No doubt that explains his excellent training..." observed Darcy dryly. "Miss Elizabeth, we meet again!" He gave a low bow before crouching to fondle the dog, which rolled over, stuck its paws in the air, and closed its eyes in pure bliss.

Georgie looked from Elizabeth to her brother. "You two know each other?"

"Yes, we met during my recent trip to Hertfordshire with Bingley," said Darcy urbanely while Lizzy merely gave a nod in agreement. "And yet, I am surprised that you two know each other..."

"We met..." started Georgie, wholly unaware of the warning glance being directed towards her by Lizzy, "...just yesterday at... my pianoforte lessons and discovered a joint love of nature!"

Lizzy breathed a silent sigh of relief. Clearly Miss Darcy could put two and two together,* unlike any of the younger Bennet sisters.

"Indeed, Miss Elizabeth? Signor Pastroni?" observed Darcy. "It seems you were undervaluing your talents when you claimed you played 'but poorly' and yielded your place to Miss Bingley at the instrument. You must not hide your light under a bushel,*" he said, gesturing towards the saloon where Lizzy could see a handsome pianoforte that looked like it might be a Broadwood* grand.

Lizzy saw that it was a case of out of the frying pan into the fire,* yet she was not about to be bullied by Mr Darcy. "I merely stopped by," she extemporised. "Signor Pastroni is clearly out of my league. I have decided to focus on my singing instead."

Darcy seemed to smile to himself. With sudden comprehension, Lizzy realised that he had not believed a word of their story.

Standing up, he withdrew his watch from his pocket. "I was about to head for the City, but seeing I need to... repair myself, perhaps I will delay my leave taking. Miss Elizabeth, would you care to take tea with us?"

"Oh, no!" said Elizabeth. "I couldn't! I really ought to be getting back to my aunt!"

"Come, come," said Darcy. "You, too, need to repair yourself. By the time you have done that, Mrs Flowers can have tea on the table. We can drop you off on Piccadilly on the way to Georgie's music lesson. Can't we, Georgie? Provided you do not wish to visit Master Pastroni again," he smirked. "It will take us only five minutes more."

Lizzy was now getting a little annoyed at Mr Darcy's relentless bullying. She thought it likely that Georgie was going to get an earful as soon as brother and sister were alone. So in sympathy to Georgie, she smiled and gracefully accepted the invitation.

Georgie clapped her hands in delight. "Wonderful! Come upstairs, Lizzy! My maid can set all to rights in a trice!"

Removing her boots quickly, Lizzy padded up the stairs in her stockings after Georgie. She thought it best not to say anything to Georgie immediately, but once they were out of earshot of her brother, Lizzy asked Georgie politely whether they should advise Mrs Flowers of the tea.

"Oh no!" said Georgie. "Brother will handle that!"

As she followed her new friend up the stairs, Lizzy wondered vaguely if Mr Darcy was truly capable of dealing with a large dirty dog, besmirched breeches and tea within a quarter of a hour. She knew her father was certainly not.

Nonetheless, such a question could not occupy her mind for more than a moment. The better part of her faculties was soon firmly fixed on taking in her surroundings. Despite its prime position on Grosvenor Square, the Darcy townhouse was on a smaller scale to Mickelham House and seemed to positively abhor baroque tendencies in its decoration. Its furniture was of a more restrained modern English style which somehow managed to be far more luxurious than the furniture at Longbourn. The reason for this at first eluded Lizzy. It was not merely a case of more polish—her mother, after all, was a very good housekeeper. No, every stick of furniture seemed chosen for its spare elegance; every painting seemed to come from a master's brush. Silently, Lizzy approved of the Darcy taste and wondered at its source. Could he, odious man that he was, be the arbiter?

However, the effect was completely overturned when they arrived at Georgie's bedchamber which was so awash in pink silk that Lizzy gasped faintly when she walked through the door.

"Do you like it?" Georgie gushed. "I had it redecorated early this year after Lady Jersey's ball. She had the whole ballroom swathed in pink!"

For a moment, Lizzy was quite at a loss as to what to say. Clearly 'how kind of her to give it to you!', which was the first thing that came to mind, would not do.

"That is the most handsome four-poster I have ever seen!" she managed. And this was true—for the gleaming twisted posts of the wooden bed itself, despite being bedecked in the voluminous pink hangings, managed to look both delicate and sturdy at the same time.

Georgie beamed in reply.

Miss Darcy's maid appeared then, obviating any further need for comment. "But Mizz Georgiana, where 'ave you been?" she said in horror. "Zose clothes were meant for your pianoforte lezzons!"

"Where have your manners gone begging, Celestine?" snapped Miss Darcy. "Can't you see I have a guest in Lady Mickleham's niece? We need to be downstairs again in five minutes!"

With the flick of an eyelash, Celestine revised her ideas of the newcomer's station in life, though mentally noting the lady must be a poor relation. The maid gave a neat curtsey and promptly disappeared into the dressing room. Georgie encouraged Lizzy towards her dressing table where immaculate silver-handled brushes were laid out neatly, while Celestine hastily prepared another outfit of the first stare.

After Georgie had been unfastened from her garments, she urged her maid towards her visitor while she struggled out of her dirty clothes. Having already removed the pins and brushed out her hair, Lizzy offered up the ribbon with a description of the coiffure her maid had effected. Within a quarter of an hour, all evidence of their little adventure had been erased and they were tripping downstairs again. Georgie's French maid was clearly the best that could be had.

Finding the saloon empty both of Darcy and tea, Lizzy gravitated towards the magnificent pianoforte.

"Please, try it!" urged Georgie.

Lizzy could not resist such an offer. Seating herself on the stool, she played a few bars of her favourite sonatina. The difference between the Darcy instrument and the pianoforte at Longbourn was astounding, although the large dimensions of the saloon might have had something to do with the superior sound.

"But you play beautifully!" said Georgie enthusiastically. "I think Signor Pastroni would find you a worthy student!"

Lizzy shook her head. She was on the verge of explaining how slowly she read music and how clumsy her fingers generally were, when she heard a noise in the hall. Thinking it was likely Mr Darcy returned, Lizzy almost leapt from the piano seat. But it was only a servant with the tea tray.

"Mrs Flowers," announced Georgie as the woman came further into the room, "this is my new friend, Miss Elizabeth Bennet—a niece of Lady Mickleham. Lizzy, this is our housekeeper, Mrs Flowers."

Lizzy was a little startled to be introduced to the housekeeper. True, at Longbourn, the house servants, particularly the long-serving Hills, were treated somewhat like family members, but she could not imagine them being introduced to the guests! Mrs Flowers seemed unsurprised by her introduction, however.

After setting down the tea tray, she gave a neat curtsey. "Pleased to meet you, ma'am. Miss Georgie, the master begged you to start without him. He sent his valet off on an errand after getting dressed this morning, so he thought he might be tardy in coming down again."

"Very well!" said Georgie brightly, displaying not the least guilt for her brother's predicament.

The ladies sat and Georgie poured. The housekeeper seemed to have magicked some chantilly cream*-filled pastries from somewhere. Lizzy was just tucking into one of these when Mr Darcy entered the room. His eyes immediately went to Elizabeth.

"Ah! There you are brother!" said Georgie from behind her teacup. "Those bisque-coloured breeches are much better! I did not like those dirty brown ones."

As he stood there staring at Lizzy, the tip of Darcy's tongue darted out from his mouth and swept across his upper lip. Realising with embarrassment that she had cream on her face, Lizzy brought her napkin to her lips.

Tearing his eyes away, Darcy turned to his sister.

"Not brown, Georgie—mushroom. They are all the crack!*" he said dryly. "And so you did me a favour?"

Georgie had the grace to look embarrassed. "Well, I am sure I am very sorry about the dog jumping on you, but he clearly likes you very well. What are you going to name him? I have been calling him Newfie in the interim, because I thought you would like to choose a proper name."

Darcy sat down at the Pembroke table next to his sister and opposite Elizabeth, leaving a vacant chair between them. "New Tom, perhaps?" he suggested. "Or maybe, ...Henry?"

Georgie laughed. "Now you are teasing me! Elizabeth will not let you call him a dull name—will you, Elizabeth?"

"Oh, no!" agreed Elizabeth. "He must have a grand name to suit his dimensions, like Horatio or Napoleon!"

"Indeed?" said Darcy. "Well as he is neither missing a limb or particularly short*, I don't know if either is more apt than Henry—the dog appears to have as much sense as his former owner."

"No," mused Elizabeth, seeking to avoid a potential family tiff, "not Napoleon—he is definitely not short. When I first saw him, I thought he was a small bear!"

"Ursa Minor?" suggested Darcy.

"No!" said Georgie scornfully, "just 'Bear'. That suits him wonderfully!"

Having settled this to their satisfaction, Darcy then asked politely if Elizabeth had long been in London and how she was finding it. She explained that she had left Hertfordshire the day after the ball but had not been out much due to the rain and her uncle's indisposition.

"But enough to engage masters?" Darcy teased.

Lizzy was a little annoyed at him for harping on about this and replied, quite truthfully, that her aunt had deemed it a priority, along with ordering the visiting cards.

She was not about to let Mr Darcy continue to harry her and decided, for Jane's sake, to enquire on the reason for the Netherfield party quitting Hertfordshire so suddenly. Georgie had, of course, confirmed that Darcy did indeed have urgent business at Rosings, but that did not explain the need for the Bingleys' precipitate permanent removal. Knowing the Bingley sisters' disapproval of a match between their brother and Jane, Elizabeth strongly suspected that they had played a major role but was also suspicious of Mr Darcy's involvement.

"I was rather surprised to hear that you had all left Netherfield so hastily after the ball," she ventured.

"I beg your pardon," said Darcy. "I had originally intended to stay a few days longer, but a letter arrived advising me that my aunt had broken her leg. I was forced to post back to London immediately. From here I rode to Kent. As my aunt's injury turned out to be only a bad sprain, I was able to return to London fairly quickly. Indeed, I found myself rather in a fix. Georgie's companion left suddenly for Somerset yesterday—her sister died."

Elizabeth gained a better understanding of how Miss Darcy came to be wandering unchaperoned in the park.

"I fear I will have to send Bingley my apologies," continued Darcy. "I will not be able to return to Hertfordshire immediately. I feel bad, for I had promised to help him get in the way of managing the estate."

Lizzy was puzzled. "Then you are not aware that the Bingleys have quit Netherfield?"

"Quit Netherfield?" repeated Darcy, raising an eyebrow. "I am afraid that rumour has it wrong. Bingley merely accompanied me to London at Caroline's insistence. She would not have me travel alone. Bingley came merely to sign some papers in the City, though they could have been couriered to him."

"I do not speak on hearsay," returned Elizabeth. "Jane has had a letter from Caroline saying they have quit Netherfield for good; that country life does not suit them."

"What a bouncer!*" expostulated Georgie. "Why, did she not say at dinner before you departed for Hertfordshire that she adored the country, and could think of no lovelier place than Derbyshire!"

Darcy frowned upon his sister. "'She' is the cat's mother, Georgie, and if you have got that cant from your cousin Henry, pray forget it. I cannot let you loose on Almack's if you cannot mind your tongue."

Lizzy thought this was a bit much coming from the man who had publicly insulted her at an assembly, but as she felt more gracious to him now he had absolved himself in the matter of the Bingleys' departure, she forbore to remind Darcy of this.

Georgie looked inclined to pout but Darcy was spared a scene when a carriage was heard to pull up outside. Farley arrived in the saloon to announce that all was ready for their departure.

* * *

When Lizzy re-entered Mickleham House after her longer than expected excursion, she was not surprised to be met by her aunt in the vestibule.

"Elizabeth, there you are! I was just on the verge of sending one of the footmen out to look for you."

She pulled her niece into the privacy of the saloon. "Where have you been?"

"I'm sorry, Aunt," Lizzy answered contritely. "I went for a walk in the Green Park, but did not intend to be out so long."

"Was that not the Darcy carriage I saw driving off? I do hope he was not obliged to rescue you from some fix."

"No, Aunt. The boot was quite on the other foot.* I came across Miss Darcy in the park and provided some assistance to her."

"Well, I am just glad you are back!" assured Sempronia. "You must not go out alone. London is a much safer place than it used to be, but not so safe as Hertfordshire. Sit down and tell me all about it."

Seeing her aunt was at breakfast, Lizzy sat, though she could easily have done without another cup of tea. Like her father, Lizzy was quite a gifted raconteur. Her aunt was greatly amused by the story.

"Georgiana Darcy is a very nice girl. You would do well to cultivate her as a friend," advised her aunt.

As it turned out, the baron was feeling better that morning, having summoned the doctor in the middle of the night. Elizabeth's aunt suggested they make the most of the opportunity and step out to Bond Street, which was within easy walking distance.

After changing her redingote for her better pelisse, Lizzy and her aunt set off, followed by four footmen. Lizzy at first thought this was rather excessive but was soon forced to admit they were all necessary.

Her aunt's mode of shopping was a novel one. While Lizzy would have ordered her gowns and then covered her straw bonnets with matching material, her aunt Sempronia chose to shop for the hats first.

"Some hats are the most complicated confections, my dear. As gowns are made to order, one is better off choosing fabric to match the hat than the other way round," said her aunt.

After walking into the milliner's, Lizzy was forced to accept her aunt's wisdom. She was really not sure that she wished to bedeck herself like the Bingley sisters. But when her eye fell on a bonnet in the most charming combination of woodland colours, she was smitten. Her aunt agreed it was very lovely and then pointed out an astonishing structured hat in evening primrose. Before Lizzy could protest at its striking colour, the milliner had sat it on her head. Lizzy was astonished at the transformation. Within an hour, Lizzy walked out of the shop with her aunt, trailed by footmen carrying a dozen bandboxes.

Their next stop was her aunt's modiste, where a similar number of gowns were ordered, each matching one of the hats. Three of the footmen were then sent off home with the hats while Lizzy and her aunt stepped into the silversmith. Lizzy felt extremely uncomfortable when she asked the price of one of the elaborate silver cases she was first shown. She was inclined to think she might fashion one for herself from some scrap silk. However when her aunt pointed out some more moderately priced cases in mother-of-pearl, Lizzy managed to assuage her guilty conscience. She was a little chagrined, however, when her aunt asked the assistant to add a matching carnet de bal,* as a present from herself.

"Aunt, you really shouldn't have," said Lizzy as they left the shop. "I have never needed one before."

"Perhaps not at a country assembly, my dear," said Sempronia, "where you know everyone. But trust me, you will be overwhelmed with names and faces at the first ball you attend in London."

Lizzy returned home weary, having not walked more than a mile but feeling like it had been ten. Lizzy's aunt spent what remained of the afternoon with the baron. She ate dinner in solitary state in her sitting room, then put her new cards into her card case. Her aunt had promised they would go visiting on the morrow if it was another fine day. She then crawled early into bed.

The next morning proved bright and sunny. Cheered by the thought of finally making some new acquaintances, Lizzy donned her white muslin chemise à la reine,* which had until recently served as her best ball gown. It was furbished up with pomona ribbons she had purchased yesterday. She then waited patiently as her maid coiffed her hair while her tummy grumbled for breakfast. An early riser, Lizzy was having trouble getting used to town hours.

Finally, she was ready. She bounded down the stairs to the parlour, already able to smell the coffee. She fancied that her aunt, a coffee drinker, must have risen before her today. Upon opening the door to the parlour, Lizzy was brought up short when she found it occupied by three gentlemen she had never met before.

Conversation stopped abruptly to be followed immediately by the scraping of chairs as all three gentleman rose to their feet. The nearest gentleman stepped forward, a handsome young man with straight hair falling over his brow and a decidedly square chin with a pronounced dimple.

"I beg your pardon!" said Lizzy. "I did not realise the room was occupied!"

"Please don't abandon us!" begged the young man. "I have been expecting you to come in, Miss Elizabeth. I am your cousin Freddy."

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*out of the frying pan into the fire—from a bad situation to a worse one. The earliest recorded use of the English idiom was by Thomas More in the course of a pamphlet war with William Tyndale. In The Confutacyon of Tyndales Answere (1532) More asserted that his adversary 'featly conuayed himself out of the frying panne fayre into the fyre'. There are meant to multiple European equivalents because the original concept is Roman. Let me know what they are.

*put two and two together—to make four, ie to think on her feet, the phrase I originally wanted to use. I believe the latter is American.

*hide your light under a bushel—To hide one's talents. From one of the parables of Jesus where he exhorts his disciples to share their faith, not to hold it under a bushel (archaic for bowl).

*Broadwood grand—development of the modern piano in the late 1700s owed much to John Broadwood and his associates who designed a piano in the harpsichord case—the origin of the "grand". After their first model became available in 1777, they quickly gained a reputation for the splendour and powerful tone of their instruments. They continued to improve their models, sending pianos to both Joseph Haydn and Ludwig van Beethoven. They were the first firm to build pianos with a range of more than five octaves: five octaves and a fifth during the 1790s, six octaves by 1810 (Beethoven used the extra notes in his later works), and seven octaves by 1820. Wikipedia

*chantilly cream- cream whipped to stiff peaks, name after a town in France. May include sugar, vanilla and even egg white.

*all the crack—the latest fashion

*bouncer—a big fat lie as opposed to a whisker, which is a little one. Historically, a bouncer was a big person who made much noise in moving, hence the modern meaning of a person who throws the disorderly out of pubs.

*Horatio Nelson lost his arm in the Battle of Santa Cruz de Tenerife. Napoleon was a respectable 5'6'' but in an era when the better fed officers were taller than common soldiers, he was known as 'the Little General'.

*The boot's on the other foot implies that there has been a reversal of circumstances in a situation. In the 18th century there was a major change in the method of making footwear; for the first time right and left sides were made. Before that shoes were symmetric, ie the same for both feet. If a boot was uncomfortable on one foot, it could be tried on the other, often with success. A total change came about when the boot was on the other foot.

*carnet de bal—dance card, typically with ivory leaves.

*chemise à la reine—a dress style made popular by Marie Antoinette but which continued in popularity for some years.


	12. Allegro con angoli

**Thanks to** ** _alix33_** **and** ** _LSY_** **for pointing out my omissions in the footnotes and to** ** _ilex-ferox_** **for elucidation on the subject of Napoleon. We use the term 'between Scylla and Charybdis' in English too,** ** _Laure Saint-Yves_** **, but I've not heard it in common parlance, to use another French term.**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 11 were:**

 **Surprise meetings" or "Surprises" or "Shopping and surprises", "New friends and old" by** ** _NotaCursedChild_** **,**

 **"A Bear of a Day" by** ** _Windchimed_** **,**

 **'We meet again' by** ** _Laure Saint-Yves,_**

 **'Tea with the Darcys' or 'Pink and Cream' by** ** _ilex-ferox,_**

 **"Cousin Freddy" by** ** _Dizzy Lizzy.60_**

 **I thought of "Happy Bearday" based on your suggestion,** ** _Windchimed_** **.**

* * *

 **Chapter 12** **Allegro** **con** **angoli**

Afterwards, Lizzy had chastised herself for her discomposure. Despite occupying his chamber, she had given little thought to her cousin. She supposed she had been too caught up in all the changes being wrought in her own life to give someone she had not met a second thought. She had certainly not expected her cousin to be such a handsome young man. She judged him to be about twenty-five years old—older than herself but several years younger than Mr Darcy. Encountering him so unexpectedly in the breakfast parlour, Lizzy had found herself uncharacteristically tongue-tied for several minutes.

Freddy had immediately introduced his companions, the Lascelles—a father and son, both bankers from Jamaica. The three men had wound up their conversation, which was of business, swiftly. The father had been inclined to continue it—to which Elizabeth had attributed her uncharacteristic silence—but both young gentlemen turned their attention to Elizabeth, with entertaining her being their primary goal. Under such chivalrous treatment, Elizabeth soon regained her equanimity.

Over the remains of their breakfast, the two young gentleman talked chiefly of the opera and theatre. Lizzy added her mite but could only draw on the two occasions she had visited the theatre with the Gardiners. Young Mr Lascelles was not particularly good looking but he had charming manners, and Freddy had both looks and charm enough to make up for the elder Mr Lascelles whose time of wooing was long past him—he clearly now viewed pretty young women as a waste of time, detracting from time better spent on making money.

Before the topic of the latest play at Drury Lane* could be exhausted, Lady Mickleham walked into the room.

"Freddy, you are early!" she greeted her son, kissing him on both cheeks, then shaking hands with the Lascelles, quite in the manner of old friends.

"The packet* had a steady tailwind across the channel, Mother, and got in a good hour before it was expected," said Freddy. "Fortunately, I had gone down early to the docks to meet a friend."

"A friend at the docks, Freddy?" laughed Sempronia as she released Mr Lascelles senior's hand.

"Someone from Oxford, Mother. He is a custom's clerk now."

His mother laughed. "Obviously worth cultivating then? Are you trying to get your supply of brandy through?"

Freddy smiled and shook his head. "I wouldn't go about it in that way if I was!" he joked. "How is Father faring?"

"He has had a pretty exhausting last two weeks but assures me he is well enough to meet the Lascelles this morning. Indeed, sir," she said turning again to Mr Lascelles senior, "he declared he would not miss you."

The coffee pot was brought in again for Lady Mickelham and polite enquiries were made on the Lascelles' journey from Jamaica and the trip to Paris.

Soon the baron's secretary Mr Peabody appeared, to declare that all was ready if the gentlemen would care to step into the baron's office. With an apologetic glance at Elizabeth, Freddy got up to go. Lady Mickelham accompanied her guests to the door with promises to join them soon, then reseated herself next to Elizabeth while she ate her muffin.

"Well," said Sempronia mischievously, "how do you like your cousin Freddy?"

To her annoyance, Elizabeth blushed. "He was very kind, trying to include me in the conversation, though I would not have disturbed them in their business. Had I known they were using the parlour, I would have taken my breakfast in our sitting room."

"Nonsense!" replied her aunt. "You have as much right to be here as they, and it would not hurt you to learn something of business. Being an heiress, you would do well to understand how your money is managed. Heavens! Where would I be now, if I had not been able to assist the baron? Fretting at his declining health, I dare say!"

Elizabeth was a little surprised at this opinion but deemed it wise. One heard so often of widows being cheated by unscrupulous attorneys. Her uncle Phillips often shook his head and said the profession was 'going to the dogs*'.

"But why, Aunt, do you not have a portrait of your son about? Then I would have known him on sight."

Sempronia laughed. "How very percipient of you to notice! I do have a portrait of him in my bedchamber, which I am very fond of. But it was taken before he went up to Oxford and is not very like him these days, so I did not point it out to you. It is mainly of sentimental value to me, you know. I commissioned another from Mr Lawrence* when Freddy graduated. He has been working on it these last four years!"

"Heavens! Will he ever finish it?" asked Elizabeth.

"Who knows? Now he has been knighted and has moved to Russell Square,* it becomes increasingly doubtful. It is mostly done. Perhaps I will permit one of his assistants to do the background, just so I may hang it on the wall!"

Having finished her muffin, Lady Mickleham delicately patted her lips with her napkin and looked at the mantle clock.

"I'm afraid I am going to have to neglect you again this morning, my dear," Sempronia apologised. "The baron will need me for his meeting with the Lascelles, for I helped with the reconciliation between the two banks for the last quarter. Mr Peabody has been very much engaged with the new clients Freddy has secured. But we could go out visiting once I am finished, or even head back to Bond Street to order your ball gowns, if you feel you have settled on the designs."

"Do not worry about me, Aunt," laughed Elizabeth. "My singing master is coming at nine and the new master in Euclid thereafter. I will be kept very busy!"

And indeed Elizabeth was. She took her singing lessons in the luxurious upstairs saloon where the pianoforte resided. It was not one of the new Broadwood instruments but a German Stein with black keys, which the master had deemed quite adequate. Chaperoned by Priddy, who sat near the window employed in some stitching, Elizabeth's lesson went quite well. Signor Bertini—why did all the music masters appear to be italian?—had deemed her to have a good natural singing voice, which might be corrected by careful tuition over one or two years to something worthy of her aunt's salons.

It had then been Elizabeth's intention to meet with the geometry master in the library, but when the business meeting with the Lascelles removed there to allow two clerks to argue over discrepancies between different versions of the mutual obligations of the two banking houses in the office, Lizzy was forced to meet with her tutor in the saloon.

A rather nervous young man was shown in carrying a well worn carpetbag.

Lizzy had been advised by the agency that Mr Proctor had gained firsts in religion and mathematics but had failed to gain a fellowship in the latter—his preferred vocation. Having no connections who might help him find a living, he was now employed as a curate in a poor parish in London and was seeking students as a means to supplement his income. She was his first.

"Good morning, Mr Proctor," said Lizzy as a young man in a black frock coat stepped into the salon, looking rather awkward. Although neatly dressed, his poorly shaved cheeks were gaunt and his white cravat was a pale shade of grey. "The agency was not sure what you would require for your lessons, so I have brought pen* and paper. But if you require a textbook or a wax tablet* or pencils, I would be happy to acquire those."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Mr Proctor, recovering himself a little. "A wax tablet or two would be very useful. I have brought my own text book."

He then produced a copy of Euclid's Elements from his carpetbag, sat down at the work table, folded his hands primly and waited. He looked rather alarmed when Lizzy drew out the chair beside him and sat down.

Pushing his own chair away from the table and thus creating more space between them, Mr Proctor stared at her. "When will my pupil arrive?" he enquired. "I suppose he is your stepson. You cannot be more than twenty."

He positively started when Lizzy laughed.

"I am not married, sir. I am your pupil. And yes, you have correctly discerned my age."

This information did not sit well with the tutor. Pushing his chair back further, Mr Proctor jumped up and retreated to the door where he swayed uncertainly, clearly wishing to depart, but having injudiciously left his effects in no man's land.

Quite dismayed by his behaviour, Lizzy glanced uncertainly at Priddy, her only ally in the room, whose needle was suspended in midair. Before she could as much as raise an eyebrow at her aunt's maid, the servant had rushed to her defence.

"If you are too old-fashioned in your notions to accept a paying pupil, you deserve no sympathy, sir! My mistress is a famed geometer, aye, and so too is Lady Byron! And Lady Mickleham wishes her niece to be so educated and is willing to pay good money for it, who are you to say her nay?"

Lizzy was a trifle astonished to hear her aunt described as 'a famed geometer' and also to be defended by the formidable Priddy. But where Lizzy would likely have cajoled to no effect, this straight talking from a servant brought a wonderful conversion over Mr Proctor, who went quite pale, then returned silently to the table, adjusting his chair so that its back was turned firmly against Priddy.

"I beg your pardon," he said in an undervoice to Lizzy while he stared at the desk in front of him. "There seems to have been a miscommunication with the agency."

He then cleared his throat and began a discourse on triangles, aided by pen, paper, and his textbook, which lasted for an hour. At no time during his monologue did he stop to check whether Lizzy was following his narrative, nor even look at her. Fortunately, though the subject was new, it seemed to make sense to Lizzy. She could immediately see its value in drafting dress patterns. She was only glad that Mr Proctor transcribed the names of the triangles and angles as he explained them, else she was quite sure she would forgotten them in all their multitude.

When the mantle clock struck eleven, Mr Proctor started up immediately, gathered up his textbook and carpetbag in both arms, and fled the salon.

"Well, I never!" exclaimed Priddy to the ensuing vacuum.

"I wonder if he will come again?" said Lizzy, who had not had time to even reassure her tutor that she would have the wax tablets ready for the next lesson.

Before she could devote any time to this dilemma, a carriage was heard to pull up in the street. As Lizzy had been drifting towards Priddy who was sitting by the window, it was a simple matter to investigate. Lizzy thought she recognised the Darcy carriage, which surmise was confirmed when Georgiana alighted.

Abandoning Priddy in the salon with a quick explanation, Lizzy hurried along the gallery and down the stairs to the vestibule to catch Miss Darcy in the act of proffering her card to Jeffreys. Lizzy was relieved to find Georgiana was accompanied not by her brother but only a maid. But she was also conscious of a strange feeling of disappointment. She decided that after an hour of the ludicrous disdain of Mr Proctor, she felt she was ready for a good argument. Mr Darcy was always a worthy adversary.

"Georgiana, how nice to see you! Do you have time for tea? I have just finished with my tutors for this morning," said Elizabeth.

"Famous!" said Georgiana. "I need to be off in half an hour to Signor Pastrini, but I was hoping you would be interested in some shopping this afternoon. I need to visit my modiste for a fitting. It is no fun with only my maid in attendance!"

Lizzy expressed her enthusiasm for the project. They were soon discussing their respective masters over tea and biscuits. Georgiana was quite shocked by Lizzy's treatment by her mathematics master, roundly declaring her brother would have given him a stern talking to.

"Really?" enquired Lizzy. "Are you sure he would not side with the tutor in thinking mathematics no province for ladies?"

"Oh no!" declared Georgie. "He was sadly disappointed to find I had no turn for figuring. He was senior wrangler* at Cambridge, you know. I, on the other hand, despise even doing the household accounts! Brother is quite adamant that a well bred lady should not be numerically deficient. He constantly deplores the sad state of education of ladies and the population in general. He says industrialisation will be for nought if we do not have workers who can count beyond five!"

Although Lizzy could see the sense in this, it was not a point of view she would have attributed to Mr Darcy. True, he had declared that a lady should have a well informed mind at Netherfield but he had only been referring to reading.

"Indeed?" said Lizzy provocatively. "I thought he was more in favour of encouraging ladies to paint decorative tables."

Georgiana burst into full throated laughter. "Where did you hear that? I did decorate a small table at Ramsgate. It was horrible! I was quite at a loss as to what to do with it. The only one who expressed any enthusiasm for it was George! Brother said he was very tempted to give it to him! I believe in the end he sent it to Pemberley and it was claimed by our housekeeper, Mrs Reynolds."

Lizzy had not missed the faint flush that had mounted to Miss Darcy's cheeks at the instant she had said the name. "George?" Lizzy asked inquisitively.

Georgiana blushed. "Yes, George Wickham. He is an old friend of the family but... unfortunately quite ineligible," she finished lamely.

It was now Lizzy's turn to change colour. Had not Mr Darcy warned her of George Wickham at the Netherfield ball? What had he said?–that he was a wolf in sheep's clothing? Did she not know that he made up to heiresses?—first Miss King and then herself? It seemed Miss Darcy had preceded them—and she, like Miss King, was barely out of the school room. Worse still, it seemed that George was still the possessor of poor Georgie's heart.

Lizzy was determined to pull the wool from Miss Darcy's eyes* but it would be necessary to first gain her confidence.

"Well!" she said brightly. "I'm sure George has very good taste! After all, his opinion is entirely in line with Miss Bingley's. She was all praise for your little table, you know. 'Delightful!' was the term she used at Netherfield."

Georgie burst out laughing.

Lizzy knew that Miss Darcy had pegged Miss Bingley for a shameful flatterer and she was hopeful her comparison had tarred George Wickham with the same brush.

"Poor table!" Georgie crowed. "I laboured so hard over it!"

They both fell into fits of laughter.

Once they had recovered, Georgie looked at the clock. "Oh dear! I have to go and I do not want to! Not that I dislike Senor Pastrini's lessons, but we are having such fun!" Then, with the widening of the eyes and opening of the mouth that so frequently comes with a brilliant idea: "I know! You can come with me! Please do! Then we can go shopping straight afterwards!"

Georgie would not take no for an answer and Lizzy soon found herself advising Jeffreys of her plans, sending her apologies to her aunt, and running up to her room to fetch her new pomona green bonnet and pelisse.

Senor Pastrini's studio was in Bond Street, on an upper floor. Miss Darcy was a master of the instrument, good enough to give paid recitals, which made it even more excruciating when Georgie finished her lesson by begging her master to consider Lizzy as a student. No disclaimer on Lizzy's part availed. She was bid to sit at the keyboard and play.

Chagrined and nervous, Lizzy gave it her best shot, trotting out the sonatina once more, then braced herself for what could only be a refusal. Her single wish was that Senor Pastrini would be kind, but his conduct of Georgie's lesson at least reassured Lizzy on that head.

The master pursed his lips. "You are self-taught?"

It was not really a question.

"I'm afraid I read music very poorly, sir," replied Lizzy, "and I am not up to your standard."

In the background, Georgie flapped her hands wildly, indicating that Elizabeth should not talk herself down. But Lizzy's confession seemed merely to bring a smile to Senor Pastrini's lips.

"You sing?" he asked.

"A little," Lizzy ventured.

"Have the goodness to sing this for me," he said, pulling some sheet music from a pile.

Lizzy looked at the lyrics in dismay. "It is in Italian, sir. I do not speak it."

"We will not be offended if there are some mistakes in pronunciation," said Senor Pastrini encouragingly, "Perhaps only wince a little," he joked.

"Are you going to play?" asked Lizzy.

"No, no," said the master. "I wish to hear your voice."

Lizzy obediently sang the first few bars until Senor Pastrini raised his hand.

"I thought you could not read music, Miss Bennet? Your problem is not your sight reading but your clumsy fingering. If you will undertake to learn your pieces exactly as I instruct you, I believe you can overcome the deficit. If you will come to lessons with Miss Darcy, I will undertake to teach you together."

Georgie literally jumped for joy, thanking her master profusely. In shock, Lizzy accepted their joint congratulations.

"Ooh!" Georgie crowed once they were descending the stairs. "Won't Caroline be livid! She has been trying to get into Master Pastrini's studio these past two years!"

Lizzy was a little taken aback—she acknowledged the superiority of Miss Bingley's playing and could only believe Georgie's sponsorship had won her the place. Ironically, the thing uppermost in her mind was imagining the expression on Mr Darcy's face when she told him that Senor Pastrini had decided to take her as a student after all!

They headed off to Miss Darcy's modiste where the fitting went well and Lizzy was so taken by the style of one of Georgie's day gowns that she was encouraged to order a copy for herself to match her woodland bonnet.

It was well into the afternoon when the Darcy carriage deposited Elizabeth once more in Piccadilly. Georgie promised to call for Lizzy for their piano lesson at the same time tomorrow.

Elizabeth was all apologies to her aunt for arriving home so late.

"Nonsense," said Lady Mickleham. "The Lascelles have only just left, so I am glad that you were well entertained and not moping around waiting on my convenience. But Freddy was very sorry to have gone off without bidding you goodbye."

They took a late tea over a cold collation with the baron. He had eschewed his gout chair for the day and was hobbling about with the aid of a walking stick. Her aunt was agreeably surprised to discover she had become a pupil of Senor Pastrini, praising Miss Darcy for her influence.

When Lady Mickleham remembered a letter had come for her, Lizzy left her relatives over the fresh pot of tea that had been brought in and hurried out to the salver in the inner vestibule to retrieve it.

Throwing herself on her bed upstairs, Lizzy hastily unsealed Jane's second missive, schooling herself not to scan the letter but to savour each word.

" _Dear Lizzy,_

 _I hope you are doing well. Our cousin's visit has been one of considerable anxiety for me. Things seemed to be going well enough between him and Mary at first, though I had to remind her several times not to correct him when he misquotes the Bible. How I wish you were here! I'm sure we would have chuckled together privately over some of his mistakes. Yesterday, waxing lyrical on the subject of marriage, he said that King Solomon had 300 wives and 700 porcupines! Even Mama snorted into her tea. Most of his mistakes, unfortunately, are not so amusing. Indeed, without you, it has been mostly excruciating—praying that Lydia and Kitty would not embarrass him by failing to contain their mirth._

 _All might have been well had we not been invited to the Lucases' soirée, where the Bingleys' sudden departure was much talked of. Apparently my cousin accused Mama the next morning of misleading him over my situation. She declared she had done no such thing, but the result of it was that Mr Collins has gone back to Kent without making Mary an offer._

 _Mama was very vexed. Mr Collins had indicated that his wish to marry was of some urgency, such that Mama had expected all to be settled before he departed. Now she is going about saying that she has been disappointed twice, first in Mr Bingley and now in Mr Collins. Do not worry, Lizzy. She does not at all blame myself or Mary. But she says that gentlemen can never be relied upon—that they think only of themselves."_

The remainder of the letter was mundane information on the state of Kitty and Lydia's interests amongst the militia officers, which Lizzy could not bring herself to be interested in, since they were as ephemeral as autumn leaves. The one note of hope, inserted near the end, was information from their uncle Philips—he had discovered from the agent Mr Morris that Mr Bingley had not relinquished the lease on Netherfield as had been rumoured. Thus there was some hope that the prodigal lover would return.

Lizzy decided that Mr Bingley could not be left to his own devices.* Her first formal introduction to the Ton was to be on the following week at the first of her aunt's salons since her arrival. An invitation had been sent that afternoon to the Darcys. Despite her dislike of Caroline's company, Lizzy decided to put Jane's welfare first—she would petition her aunt to invite the Bingleys.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*Drury Lane—a theatre has stood in the same spot since the Restoration in the 1660s. The performance of plays had been banned during Cromwell's rule. It ushered in a new era of English theatre. Two major changes there were effected were the use of female performers and a change in theatre design from the Elizabethan theatre-in-the-round to a stage with a proscenium arch. The theatre became known as 'The Theatre Royal in Drury Lane' in 1672. From this time it had a royal patent (essentially a monopoly) to perform plays in English. Many of these plays still exist and are considered classics, such as the works of Richard Sheridan who ran the theatre in the late 18th century.

*packet—a ship travelling at regular intervals between two ports, originally for the conveyance of mail. It also offered passage to a small number of passengers.

*pen—during the Regency this term generally denoted a quill—it comes from a Latin word meaning 'feather'. Although it continues to designate a writing implement, its exact meaning has changed fluidly over the last 200 years and is now more typically associated with a ball-point pen. Some Regency writers use the term 'quill-pen' to avoid being accused of using a 'modern' word, but it seems kind of silly to refer to a 'pen-pen'.

*wax tablets were used for erasable work before slates became commonplace. They provided a finer work surface that could be scratched with a nib but needed to be heated to smooth them out again.

*to pull the wool over someone's eyes is to deceive or hoodwink them. Here it is used in the opposite sense—to enlighten.

*Thomas Lawrence Sir Thomas Lawrence PRA FRS (13 April 1769 – 7 January 1830) was a leading English portrait painter and the fourth president of the Royal Academy.

*Russell Square. Lawrence lived on or near Piccadilly until about 1814.

*to go to the dogs—to go to wrack and ruin

*senior wrangler—dux of mathematics

*pull the wool from Miss Darcy's eyes—to undeceive her

*left to your own devices", it means your ability to figure things out alone or entertain yourself. The noun device comes from the Old French word devis, meaning "division," "separation," "wish," or "desire." The earliest citations date from 1300:

"Þat he ne suld rise, Al at his aun deuise."

Cursor Mundi,1300

(This translates to something like "...that he shall rise, all at his own device.")

"Hyt ys sloghenes and feyntes To take penaunce at þy dyuys"

Handlyng Synne, 1303

(It translates to something like "it is slothfulness and sluggishness to take penance at thy devices", where "to take penance" according to the OED means "to accept another's hospitality without any special preparations having being made.") Quotations from stackexchange.


	13. Animal attraction

**Thanks for picking up the error,** ** _Ancalagon_** **. I obviously had a bit of a mindflip between writing chapters 11 and 12. I have corrected it in my master. Making corrections online has become difficult on mobile devices after a change made about 6 month's ago. I notified fanfiction of the problem at the time, but it was unfortunately not corrected.**

 **I've added a longer summary, just for you,** ** _Windchimed_** **.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 12 were:**

 **"Getting settled and getting even" by** ** _suddenlysingle_** **,**

 **"Music to my ears" by** ** _Happy Lizzy,_**

 **"From Proctor to Pastrini" by** ** _WendyArprigio_** **,**

 **"Many new angles" by** ** _justafan2111_** **,**

 **"The Euclid Treatment" by** ** _CanonsburgReader_** **,**

 **"Covering All the Angles" by** ** _ilex-ferox,_**

 **"Triangles from different angles" by** ** _Laure Saint-Yves._**

 **Of course, I loved the angle puns By several readers but also the attempt to include both masters by** ** _WendyArprigio_** **. My attempt at this was "Allegro con angoli". Hopefully I haven't ruined the Italian language. Thanks for the idea, Wendy!**

* * *

 **Chapter 13 Animal attraction**

The days before her aunt's salon went all too quickly for Lizzy, caught up between masters' lessons and the purchase of yet more new clothes—her aunt said she would need them for when the season got in full swing.*

Mr Proctor had returned, though it clearly cost him much effort—Lizzy could almost feel the awkward tension during his lessons. It seemed he was not at ease with women. She did not think he would persist with her longer than it took him to find sufficient boys to tutor. Yet she was enjoying the geometry. It was a whole new way of looking at things.

Freddy visited every day, spending an hour or two in the study on bank business. But he always managed to take tea with Elizabeth and his mother before heading to the City. Freddy was well read, polite and always good company. Elizabeth was beginning to believe he might be flirting with her.

The one event that stood out in Lizzy's mind was the trip she and Georgiana had stolen to Bullock's museum,* a startling building of Egyptian design that housed all manner of wonders. Of course, Elizabeth had spied the unusual building on her several trips to Bond Street but had assumed it was a theatre. Georgiana had disabused her of this notion when she begged Lizzy to accompany her there one morning after their music lesson. From the manner of Georgiana's request, Lizzy had been in no doubt that Georgie's brother had declared he would not be seen dead passing through its portals.

Lizzy had to admit some of the exhibits were no better than might be glimpsed at a fair: a two-headed calf, an automaton, and the red Indian who they had at first thought a statue until he winked at them. But there were others, such as the fauna of Africa, which she thought quite astounding, and educational too. What a stuffy brother Georgie had!

But a good deal of Lizzy's time was spent helping her aunt prepare for the salon, which exercise Lady Mickleham deemed just as important to her education as a geometry lesson. First and foremost, there were the letters of invitation to be sent. The guests were to be friends of her aunt Sempronia for the most part, with one or two eligible gentlemen from the best families thrown in. Of course, Georgie had accepted the invitation to Lady Mickleham's salon immediately but no reply had come from the Bingleys, leaving Lizzy to hope that they might have returned to Netherfield since Jane's last letter. As for Georgie's brother, he had excused himself from accompanying his sister—Mr Darcy already had an engagement but hoped to turn up later in the evening. This had somewhat relieved Lizzy—her aunt had asked her to play her sonatina, which she had been practising all week with Signor Pastrini's revised fingering. It had been very frustrating at first, when her fingers wanted to fly over the keys in their accustomed manner. But she persisted and by the end of the week Signor Pastrini had given her the nod to pick up the tempo. If there was any improvement to the sound Lizzy was not aware of it, though her aunt claimed she could tell the difference. Lizzy mainly noticed that her fingers were not racing over the keys anymore during several difficult places but gliding along at a more even pace.

Yet, despite her progress, there was still leagues* between her own performance and that of Georgiana. Her attempts to excuse herself were in vain. Her aunt had invited two of the patronesses of Almack's and expected Lizzy to show herself to advantage. Thus it had been Lizzy's stratagem to play her piece early in the evening, before Mr Darcy should arrive—if he did at all. Her aunt had been sympathetic to her wishes but had explained that it was always polite to allow guests to exhibit first. Miss Darcy had apparently never played at as much as a private salon and Sempronia was frankly curious to know if she was as good as Lizzy and popular rumour painted. Thus she had encouraged Elizabeth to beg Georgie for the favour of a performance.

When the evening of the salon arrived, Lizzy donned the beautiful shot silk gown she had worn to the Netherfield ball. In her preparations for the evening, she had at first deemed it too fine, but hastily revised her opinion upon being shown the beautiful coffee silk gown her aunt intended to wear. Lizzy's maid had achieved an amazing coiffure that harkened to the baroque by teasing her hair. The result was a creditable pouffe with a strategic curl lying across her bare shoulder. She looked ready for court—all that was missing was the powder! Finally her aunt loaned her some beautiful amethyst earrings to match her necklace. Of course, these had to be tied on with strands of silk, for Lizzy's ears were not pierced. Her aunt promised to rectify the omission on the morrow, apologising for this oversight. Lizzy was not looking forward to it, being in no haste to follow Jane's lead in that area.

They ate only a light supper while getting dressed, Lady Mickleham always served refreshments for her guests. Her salons were known for their superior food, a touch above the ordinarys* that could be had in the nearby clubs of St James.

Finally the guests began to trickle in, with Georgie amongst the first to arrive.

"Oh, Elizabeth! You look stunning!" squealed Miss Darcy as she did a little jig on the spot. "That shot silk is beautiful! And I love the rosettes!"

Elizabeth laughed at her enthusiasm but unfortunately could not voice similar encomiums for Georgie's gown. Though well made, the gaudy orange silk she had chosen did not suit Georgie's raven hair and looked the sort of thing Miss Bingley would wear to stand out in a crowd. But Georgie's glossy locks were beautiful and expertly dressed, so Elizabeth admired them instead.

Finally Elizabeth's curiosity got the better of her. "Is your gown new?" she enquired.

"Oh, yes!" replied Georgie disingenuously. "Is it not beautiful? It is a colour I first saw on Caroline. It is so tropical! One can almost taste the spices!"

"So you long to voyage to the Indies?" asked Elizabeth archly.

"Oh, yes! Just to travel anywhere! I had hoped to go to Europe once I was out—to Paris and perhaps Italy, at the least. But Brother thinks it is still too unsettled there to attempt the journey," she finished with a small moue.

Elizabeth commiserated. It had never been in her power to go further than London occasionally, to stay with her aunt and uncle Gardiner, so she had not really thought of it. Now she realised she could travel anywhere she liked. It opened whole realms of possibilities! They began to prepare a stupendous imaginary grand tour, taking in Versailles, the Pitti Palace* and the ruins of the colosseum.

It was during this conversation that Freddy arrived and, after briefly greeting his mother who was in conversation with the Duke of Axford, hurried over to his cousin.

"Oh, Freddy!" greeted Elizabeth. "Let me introduce you to Miss Georgiana Darcy, whom I take my piano lessons with each day!"

Freddy made his bow politely and, taking a glass of champagne and a crab patty from passing trays, was soon acquainted with the topic of their conversation.

"You know I do envy the Lascelles," he remarked. "I have always wanted to go to Jamaica."

Georgie was fascinated. After discovering the place was no longer infested with pirates, she agreed it sounded like a veritable paradise.

As the room was almost full, Lady Mickleham soon called them to order. The Duke was to read a poem. It was not dramatic verse like Marmion or Childe Harolde* but a cleverly worded nonsense sonnet. Everyone clapped politely and laughed at his bon mots as conversation restarted. The well trained servants who had been waiting at the door for the completion of his recital began to circulate with trays of more food.

Soon Georgie was begged to play her piece.

"Well how do you like my new friend?" whispered Elizabeth to her cousin as Georgie settled on the bench.

"She's a delightful chit," declared Freddy, conscious that the general hubbub would screen his words from their object. "She is tall but I'm guessing she cannot be much older than sixteen—a little naive in her notions," he added condescendingly.

The room hushed in anticipation. When Georgie started to play, Elizabeth watched in satisfaction as Freddy's lips parted with his indrawn breath.

He glanced at Lizzy, then bent towards her ear. "She is a prodigy!" he announced in a whisper.

Elizabeth nodded in agreement then amused herself watching the reactions of the other guests. This turned somewhat sour however, for after Georgie's amazing skill on the keyboard had been praised, Lizzy heard Georgie's looks and dowry being discussed. Having already decided the orange gown did not suit Georgie, she was all indignation when others came to the same conclusion. Why it was monstrous!—discussing a lady as if she were a horse at Tattersalls! Only Freddy continued watching, spellbound.

"I do love music," he offered to Elizabeth when the piece was finished, tearing his eyes away from Miss Darcy. "It is so transporting!"

Elizabeth agreed, handing Georgie's glass of champagne back to her when she came skipping back towards them, seemingly oblivious of the stir she had created.

"There!" she said to Freddy and Elizabeth. "Now it is over and I can enjoy myself!"

"It is a pity your brother was not here to see you perform," remarked Freddy.

"Heavens, no!" dismissed Georgie. "He hears me practicing for hours every day! Why, I am quite sure that was why he was so eager that I form my own establishment. He shuts his study door."

"It seems a little unfair," observed Elizabeth, "—to demand such excellence from you and then complain about the noise."

"Oh! But he does not complain really," explained Georgie. "He just did not expect me to spend so much time practising. But Signor Pastrini says if one is to excel, one must put in the hours and I don't see the point of starting anything if one does not intend to do one's very best."

Freddy was much struck by Georgie's enthusiasm and praised her for a dedication that few ladies possessed. Lizzy thought this a little unfair, for she did not think that ladies were encouraged to really excel at anything but only demonstrate competence in several areas deemed 'the feminine arts'—generally those that catered to male entertainment. But she did not wish to undermine Freddy's praise. The conversation then turned to the topic of Georgie's setting up her own establishment, with Miss Darcy declaring that she would not mind doing it if Elizabeth lived with her. They had fun planning where they should live and quizzing Freddy on life at The Albany.

Two more ladies took their turn at the piano before Elizabeth was finally called upon to deliver her piece—Miss Bletchley and Lady Anna Cunningham. Lizzy was a little nervous and felt strangely disconnected from events as she glided towards the piano. It occurred to her that she might have drunk a little too much champagne. Nonetheless her fingers did not fail her.

She got up from the keyboard feeling she had acquitted herself well and grateful the ordeal was over. Suddenly she was glad she been obliged to wait, thankful for the space between Georgiana's superior performance and her own which was more on par with the competent performances of the two other ladies.

Upon returning from the piano, Lizzy perceived that Viscount Aldley had joined their group. She at first thought the viscount was intent on detaching Freddy, but as she watched he turned and addressed himself to Georgie who blushed a becoming shade of pink. Lizzy hesitated a yard off, wondering if she should disturb their tête-à-tête when a familiar voice spoke behind her.

"A creditable performance indeed, Miss Elizabeth. You were hiding your light under a bushell."

Lizzy started. Hoping it had not been outwardly discernible, she turned to face her interlocutor. "I did not see you come in, Mr Darcy."

"I was at the door when you sat down at the keyboard."

"My performance was competent but not a patch on your sister's or, for that matter, on Miss Bingley's. I'm at a loss to know why Signor Pastrini chose to take me on," said Elizabeth ruefully, suddenly unable to take her ruse any further.

"Such refreshing honesty, Miss Elizabeth. I applaud you. Miss Bingley has technical brilliance but no sensibility towards the music she plays. If you keep at it, I believe you will, in time, be a very creditable player. But I suspect that is not why Signor Pastrini took you on."

"No?"

"No. He wishes to retain Georgiana as a student and he saw, through you, a way of doing it."

"Is Georgie thinking of giving up her lessons? She is so good and enthusiastic. I would not have imagined it."

"My sister has such a talent for music that Signor Pastrini wishes her to give paid recitals. I am against it—it is not suitable for a lady. Signor Pastrini and I are at loggerheads. There has been some discussion as to whether she should continue with her tuition or not."

Elizabeth was incensed, but aware of the people around her, she was determined to keep her voice even. She leaned closer. "And does your sister have no say in her future?"

"She is young and easily influenced. I have agreed that she can continue with Signor Pastrini if he desists from encouraging her to seek her fortune that way."

Elizabeth could see there was no point in arguing with Mr Darcy. She would establish Georgie's feelings on the matter later. "And how is Bear faring?" she enquired.

"Having proved himself unequal to townhouse living, I have sent him to Pemberley. If my groom there cannot teach him some manners, no one can."

"Heavens!" said Lizzy in mock trepidation, "what did he do?"

"Among other things, chewed on my boot and relieved himself against the bottom stair post."

Lizzy was inclined to burst out laughing. "Oh dear! Perhaps he is a little big for a townhouse. I think a lapdog would have better manners. You should get one of those," she advised in mock solicitude.

Darcy merely scowled at her.

"How are the Bingleys?" continued Lizzy airily. "Do you know if they have gone back to Netherfield? Aunt sent them an invitation for the salon but they did not reply.

"How unfortunate," said Darcy, thoughtful. "There must have been some miscommunication. I was just with Bingley at his club and sought to bring him along on the strength of my invitation, but he would not presume upon it."

His scowl deepened.

"Caroline would not turn down an invitation to a Ton party," he asserted. "Your aunt's footman must have delivered it to the wrong house."

Lizzy thought Mr Darcy underestimated both the footman and Caroline but she declined to pursue it further. They joined the others. After exchanging some polite nothings with Darcy, the viscount hastily took himself off. Georgie and Freddy, immersed in a discussion of the relative merits of Beethoven and Mozart, seemed not to notice that the third participant in their discussion had absconded. Elizabeth watched Darcy give the viscount a hard stare as he walked away. She was intrigued.

"You disapprove of the viscount?" she whispered conspiratorially.

"He has gambled away what was left of his family fortune and probably came here tonight only for the food. I would not consider him a fan of the arts or sciences—more Newmarket and cock fighting." said Darcy, lowering his voice to a rumble that seemed hardly more than a purr.

Quite unaccountably, Lizzy shivered. She could only manage an 'Oh!'

Lady Mickleham than announced the presence of Sir Humphry Davy who was to make a demonstration of his laughing gas. When Darcy whispered she was in for a treat, Lizzy would have enquired further but she had no chance, for Darcy was promptly enlisted to assist. Sir Humphry treated him as an old friend and, despite Sir Humphry's well disguised Cornish accent, Elizabeth was surprised to see Darcy reciprocate.

"Well," joked Davy by way of introducing himself to his audience. "You are all so merry already, I am not sure we can make a difference! But we will try!"

Sir Humphry, a true showman, blathered on with polite nothings while his assistant, a good-looking young man of austere aspect*, wheeled in a complicated apparatus that Lizzy realised she had seen carried into the house earlier that day. Presumably it had been assembled in one of the guests rooms. The assistant opened a stopcock and began filling a green silk bag with the contents of a glass tank. Lizzy was surprised to see the bags balloon out because she had thought the tank quite empty. Once the first bag was full, the assistant carefully handed it to Sir Humphry who tapped it playfully, demonstrating its apparent weightlessness and declaring he had a wondrous gas inside. He encouraged the guests to step forward to touch the bag. Lizzy did so, discovering the silk was oiled and its contents as light as air.

"Is it the same as the Mongolfiers* put in their balloons?" she asked.

"Ah!" joked Sir Humphry to Darcy. "We have a scientist in our midst! The Montgolfiers used hot air, ma'am. But balloon flight most commonly uses hydrogen these days—it is the most buoyant of the gases. This gas is called laughing gas and has the most wondrous effect on the mind. Would you like to try it?"

Lizzy was intrigued but at this point Darcy intervened, suggesting the Duke of Axford was desirous of trying the gas so that he might test its effects on poetic composition. A little annoyed, Lizzy ceded her place gracefully and then watched as the duke disposed himself on a chaise longue and inhaled the contents of several of the green balloons. Sighing and smiling, the duke proceeded to declaim Shakespeare, then began interweaving his own words to form a novel composition to general exclamation and applause. A dowager then volunteered, but the gas's effects on her were less creative—she merely burst into jolly laughter.

Seeing Lizzy's disappointment, Georgie took the opportunity to draw her aside and whisper: "Brother does not like young ladies to be subjected to the gas."

Lizzy raised an eyebrow. "Is he afraid we might do or say something unbecoming?"

Georgie shook her head, smiling. "He is wary of the gas's long-term effects. He says Sir Humphry came close to killing himself inhaling it in a closed chamber."

There was no time to say more, the dowager's fit of laughter passed. Others crowded forward to try the effect of the gas that Sir Humphry delivered as fast as his assistant and Mr Darcy could fill the bags. Heeding Georgie's advice, Lizzy retreated to allow the other eager guests access.

For the most part the volunteers just became merry like the dowager, although Darcy had to catch a rather rotund lady who fell sideways off her chair. Lizzy was very impressed with the strength and celerity with which he arrested her bulk from hitting the floor. After an excited squeal, it was all over when Darcy restored her upright to scattered applause.

Seeing the ladies engaged with the spectacle, Freddy excused himself to speak to other guests. Georgie and Elizabeth were thus alone on the periphery of the throng around Sir Humphry when the viscount approached them again.

"Miss Darcy, I am afraid I made the mistake of walking off before you had a chance to introduce your friend."

"Oh! This is Elizabeth Bennet—of Longbourn in Hertfordshire! She is Lady Mickleham's niece, you know. Elizabeth, this is Viscount Aldley."

Lizzy studied the viscount as he bent to kiss her hand. Despite his youth—he could not have been much older than Darcy—she fancied there was something dissipated about him, which his good looks and immaculate dress failed to disguise. She was not sure what it was, surely not just the creases around his eyes and mouth but also the way his eyes would not hold her frank gaze. It soon became obvious that Lizzy had become an object of interest to him, as much as Miss Darcy had been earlier. Lizzy was just beginning to be bored of his flattering small talk when Sir Humphry's supply of gas was exhausted. He finished the demonstration with a flourishing speech and a bow, then joined Lady Mickleham who was engaged in speech with Lady Jersey. Behind him, his assistant tidied up with quick economical movements and wheeled out the apparatus.

Lizzy was actually relieved to be rescued from the uninteresting viscount when Mr Darcy appeared at her elbow again. Like a charm, the viscount bowed and took himself off again.

As Georgie turned to select a pastry from a tray, Lizzy gave Darcy a sunny smile.

Darcy raised his eyebrow. "Did I not suggest avoiding the viscount's company?" he said in an undervoice. "He is not of good character."

"Beyond stepping on his foot, I'm not sure what you would have me do," retorted Lizzy.

"Yes!" chimed in Georgie, quickly swallowing the morsel in her mouth. "If you wish to look after us, you will have to be more present! I finally got to see the inside of Bullock's museum thanks to Elizabeth and it was most educational!"

Darcy rolled his eyes and lifted his chin to the ceiling.

"You need not hold up your nose!" continued Georgie, game as a pebble.* "Although there are curiosities, all the animals are labelled with their Linnaean* names and the African animals were displayed in a sort of habitat."

The curve of a smile appeared on Darcy's lips. "The Linnaean names?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes! The genus and species! It is quite scientific, I assure you!"

"Do I have your governess to thank for your superior education, Georgie or is this recently acquired knowledge?"

"There was a card in the museum," explained Lizzy. "Georgie and I had fun memorising the African animals and then proceeded to name everything we saw on the way home. Together we did pretty well—there was Homo sapiens, Equus caballus and Felix domesticus."

"Yes," agreed Georgie, "but then we saw a rat and the best we could come up with was 'Rattus rattus'."

Darcy burst out laughing. Lizzy was surprised to find he had a pleasant musical laugh. She had previously not even thought him capable of laughing. His face had taken on a whole new aspect.

"But you were quite right!" Darcy said. "That is its proper Linnaean name!"

"You see, Georgie!" Lizzy crowed. "Linnaeus had no more imagination than we did!"

"So you see," said Georgie, pressing her advantage, "you were quite wrong about Bullock's museum and I would like to go there again. We did not have time to see everything, did we, Lizzy?"

Darcy did not require Elizabeth's corroboration. "Certainly, I would be willing to escort you rather than see two ladies enter such a vulgar public place unaccompanied."

Georgie grinned with satisfaction at this backhanded swipe.

Not long after, Lizzy received the expected summons from her aunt via a footman. Excusing herself, she went off to be introduced to Lady Jersey. Despite the patroness's formidable reputation, Lizzy was not nervous—Almack's was known as London's marriage mart but she was still holding firm to her resolution of being favourite spinster aunt to Jane's children. Her inheritance had merely enabled her determination. She could be quite comfortable in her old age without hanging on some gentleman's sleeve.

Lizzy found Lady Jersey witty and intelligent, which was little more than she had expected of a friend of her aunt's. Nonetheless, she hoped she had acquitted herself well, if only for the sake of her aunt and her own honour.

Although the salon's musicians did not put their instruments down on the stroke of twelve like those at the Meryton assemblies, the guests did begin to thin out past midnight. Darcy and Georgiana were among the first to take their leave after Georgie barely suppressed a yawn. Freddy was stalwart in remaining with Lizzy until the last guests had stepped out to their carriages. He then bid his mother and Lizzy goodbye before taking the short walk back to The Albany.

Lizzy's eyes were drooping by the time her maid finished plaiting her hair for bed and she scrambled gratefully beneath the covers. Her descent into sleep was marred only by one incident that brought her half awake. She dreamt she was falling off a chair. Her foot kicked out to save herself but it was not necessary, Mr Darcy had caught her. She relaxed and fell fully into the arms of Morpheus.*

* * *

 **Footnotes**

leagues—most people are aware this is a measure of length because of Jules Verne's novel. The word originally meant the distance a person could walk in an hour. Although the standard Roman unit of long distance was miles, they adopted the league from Gaul. It was defined as 1 1⁄2 Roman miles (7,500 Roman feet, modern 2.2 km or 1.4 miles). The English most commonly defined the league as three miles, except at sea, where it was three nautical miles (3.452 miles; 5.556 kilometres). The French league was apparently redefined several times to 10,000, 12,000, 13,200 or 14,400 French feet, to designate distances between 3.25 to 4.68 km (2.02 to 2.91 miles) as an alternate to the metric system introduced by Napoleon, before it was finally abandoned. In Verne's novel it designated 4km, so 20,000 leagues is 80,000 km, which is deeper than the Marianas Trench (11km).

In full swing—in total effect or operation (1560s) perhaps is from bell-ringing.

ordinary—a prix fixe meal

the Pitti Palace—Napoleon briefly used the Pitti Palace as his power base while trying to unify Italy.

Marmion: A Tale of Flodden Field was published in 1808; it is a historical romance in verse of 16th-century Britain, ending with the Battle of Flodden in 1513, by Sir Walter Scott. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage is a lengthy narrative poem in four parts written by Lord Byron, published between 1812 and 1818. The poem describes the travels and reflections of a world-weary young man who, disillusioned with a life of pleasure and revelry, looks for distraction in foreign lands. Both these works were extremely popular.

Tatersalls—a business that specialised in horse auctions and betting on races. Still exists as a betting agency today.

at loggerheads—in disagreement, at a standstill. A logger was a thick block of timber which was fastened to a horse's leg to prevent it from running away.

*a young man of austere aspect—possibly Michael Faraday, a young bookbinder who had attended Davy's lectures at the Royal Institution and impressed him by taking 300 pages of notes. When Davy damaged his eyesight in an accident with nitrogen trichloride, he decided to employ Faraday as an assistant. Coincidentally one of the Royal Institution's assistants, John Payne, was sacked and Faraday was employed as Chemical Assistant at the Royal Institution on 1 March 1813. He went on to become the first Fullerian Professor of Chemistry and laid the foundations of the physics of electricity and magnetism.

Mongolfiers—the Montgolfiers were fine paper makers who invented the first hot air balloon. Their company still exists under the name of Canson who make fine papers for drawing and watercolours.

game as a pebble—resolute as a rock, though implying the protagonist is small.

Linnaean—a biological classification (taxonomy) set up by Carl Linnaeus, as set forth in his Systema Naturae (1735) and subsequent works. In the taxonomy of Linnaeus there are three kingdoms, divided into classes, and they, in turn, into orders, genera (singular: genus), and species (singular: species), with an additional rank lower than species.

The Albany—built in 1776 as a mansion, The Albany was converted into a set of 69 prestigious bachelors' apartments in 1803. Lord Byron lived there. Still standing opposite Fortnum and Mason in Piccadilly, it continues to have cachet. Although women are now allowed, no children under 14 are permitted. Georgette Heyer lived there with her husband and single son.

Morpheus—the Greek god of dreams, hence morphine.


	14. The affair of the punch

**Goodness** **me! I just upgraded to iOS 12 and they've changed the keyboard so I keep inserting a Unicorn emoji every time I wish to type punctuation:)**

 **Thanks to _alix33_ and others who provided corrections, and sorry for disturbing your French sensibilities, _Laure_ _Saint_ - _Yves_.**

 **Thanks also to the person who pointed out the continuity error with Lizzy's boots. I had found that one myself and fixed it in my master, but it's great to see you've got my back.**

 **Freddy can't inherit Longbourn, because it descends through the male line. If Mr Bennet dies, his daughters and sisters (Sempronia) get nothing. You go up the family tree, sideways and down until you come to the nearest male relative (Mr Collins) and he gets everything. That is the nature of an entail by Norman law—very unfair, just as Mrs Bennet points out: "...she continued to rail bitterly against the cruelty of settling an estate away from a family of five daughters, in favour of a man whom nobody cared anything about." PnP Ch 13. Don't you love the insidious revolutionary Austen, putting her manifesto into the mouth of the stupidest character in the book?**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 13 were:**

 **"Animal Attraction" by _Windchimed_ ,**

 **"Homo sapiens species" by _Laure_ _Saint_ - _yves_ ,**

 **"Friends in London" by _WendiaAprigio_ ,**

 **"It's a Gas' or 'Having a Laugh' or 'Exhibitions' by _ilex_ - _ferox_ ,**

 **"No Laughing Matter" by _CanonsburgReader_ ,**

 **"Of Orange, Balloons and Music" by _Dizzy_ _Lizzy_. _60_ ,**

 **"Breathe in Breathe out" or, "a buoyant performance" by _guest_ ,**

 **"Homo hilarious" by _Lp_ ,**

 **"Ups and Downs of Society" by _FatPatricia515_**

 **There were some pretty good suggestions there including "Exhibitions" by _ilex_ - _ferox_ , which encompasses the salon as well as Bullock'**s. **I** **decided** **to** **go** **with** **the** **double** **entendre** **of** " **Animal** **Attraction** " **by** **_Windchimed_**.

* * *

 **Chapter** **14** **The** **affair** **of** **the** **punch**

Lizzy was surprised to find it so late when she was uncharacteristically woken by her maid the next morning. After leaping from the bed, she dressed hurriedly and was only just in time to meet with Georgie before heading off for their piano lessons. Lizzy had cancelled her other morning lessons for that day in anticipation of the after affects of her late night, but one did not cancel with Master Pastrini!

She and Georgie sat down to a rather tardy breakfast together. Lizzy was pleasantly surprised when Freddy came in to join them as she was pouring the tea. He was usually long gone to the City by eleven. On the whole, it seemed a topsy-turvy* morning—she could only hope that her fingers would remember how to play a piano at all.

"Did you rise late too, Freddy?" asked Elizabeth, stifling a yawn as he sat down to table.

"Ah, yes!" said Freddy who seemed quite chipper*. "I did not get here until ten."

The truth was Freddy had spent a good two hours going through bank-related correspondence in his own rooms before reverting to his recent morning routine of coming to check on Peabody's work and carry copies to the City. After a career at Oxford, he was far more inured to late nights.

"The fact is," Freddy explained, "my parents have such a good library here, I thought I should make better use of it. The clerks at the counting house create such a damned racket, slamming their stamps down on their work—I beg your pardon, Miss Darcy—that it can be sometimes difficult to concentrate. One cannot blame them—I suppose it gives them an odd sense of satisfaction. Nonetheless I thought I might try getting some work done here in the mornings."

Georgiana graciously forgave Freddy his slip of the tongue while Lizzy smiled with amusement. Clearly cousins were on such friendly terms that the occasional swear word could be dropped in conversation between them without apology.

Their breakfast was so companionable, they did not notice the time fly. But when Lizzy's maid, Madeleine, appeared with her bonnet and gloves, the ladies were reminded of their need to depart. Picking up his attaché case, Freddy escorted them outside to hand them into the carriage then hailed a hackney to convey himself to the City.

Fortunately, despite her late night, Lizzy was able to remember how to play a piano.

Having being revived by a cup of coffee at Gunter's following their lesson, Lizzy even allowed Georgie to convince her to do yet more shopping on Bond Street. A muff—Georgie insisted—was absolutely necessary for carriage travel in winter.

It was with some reluctance that Lizzy tried the very expensive mink muff that Georgie was ogling. After agreeing that it was very beautiful, Lizzy's resistance melted when she discovered the muff was lined with very soft and practical rabbit fur. Having recently discovered that she would not be expected to pay her bills from her pin money on quarter day—an additional sum had been set aside for her outfitting—Lizzy finally succumbed. Georgie did a little jig, much to the furrier's amusement.

Nonetheless, when Lizzy was dropped back at Mickelham House in the afternoon, she was more than ready for an afternoon nap. This was soon forgotten, however, when she found herself in receipt of another letter from Jane. She bounded up the stairs to read her correspondence in the privacy of her bedchamber.

" _Dear_ _Lizzy_ ,

 _We have had another letter from Mr Collins. Apparently his patroness was very displeased that he did not become betrothed on his previous visit, so he is to be with us again so the banns may be said before Christmas. Mama is not leaving anything to chance. She begged yet more silk from uncle Gardiner and has gone off to Luton to have Mary fitted for a new gown using the money you sent. I cannot help feeling a little nervous, however, for Mr Collins made no mention of Mary in his letter. I sincerely hope he does not still cherish hopes towards me._

 _Netherfield remains empty. Yet I pray that Mr Bingley might return, if only to settle my confusion. I cannot help myself from replaying everything he ever said to me in my mind when I am alone, which is often now that you not here. If I could only see him again, even to see his eye cast away from me, then I would at least have the certainty that the fault lies with me, in seeing more than was there. As it is, I cannot quash my feelings for him and dream that he has merely been delayed from returning against his will. My hope sputters and flickers."_

There was an uncharacteristic blot on the next line, causing Lizzy to imagine her sister pause in her writing as she dwelt once more on Mr Bingley. She felt quite ill in sympathy with Jane. Lizzy knew Mr Bingley was not being detained by Mr Darcy, tied up in his cellar or restrained by other foul means found only in gothic novels, He was walking around untrammelled; visiting his club. How could Mr Bingley be so thoughtless?

Scanning ahead, Lizzy was relieved to see Jane had torn herself from the vexatious topic:

" _Thank you for your last letter. Miss Darcy seems a nice girl. It is a pity Mr Darcy did not bring her to Netherfield. Despite the years between brother and sister, she is of an age where attendance at a few country assemblies would ease her way into society. How terrible to be thrust into Almack's so young. I am sure my nerves would quite betray me. Have you heard yet if you are to receive a voucher?"_

The remainder of the crossed sheet was devoted to a description of the latest Meryton assembly, made unusual only by the mention of Mr Goulding, who had ceased attending these local functions a couple of years after he had come of age. Lizzy did not know what to make of it. Could he have his eye on Kitty or Lydia? Or had Jane become the focus of his renewed attentions?

Lizzy immediately retrieved a fresh sheet of hot-pressed paper from the desk and started her reply. The baron still occasionally sat in the House and had deemed himself willing to frank Lizzy's letters so that her family might be spared the expense of their delivery.*

When she took tea with her aunt in the afternoon, Lizzy was informed that the requested voucher from Almack's had arrived. Enquiries were made on the state of preparation of her new ballgowns. Lizzy informed her aunt that the first might be finished as soon as next Wednesday. Her aunt heaved a sigh of relief and promised to make up for her negligence by meeting her after her piano lesson on the morrow—to ensure the gown would be ready and help purchase any accessories.

At tea with Georgie and her aunt the next morning, Lizzy was assessing the extent of what was required—definitely a new fan—when Freddy walked in to join them. On hearing the news, he gallantly requested his cousin's hand for the first dance and afterwards solicited Miss Darcy for the second. Lizzy jokingly inscribed his name on her dance card—in case she forgot!

Having accomplished the final purchases for the ball on the following day, Lady Mickleham made time on subsequent days to pay morning visits to a few friends, specifically those who had daughters who might be expected to attend Almack's. The mornings were getting colder so that Lizzy was glad of her new muff on these rounds.

Some of the young ladies they visited, Elizabeth had already met at the Chapel Royal on the first two Sundays of her attendance, but the visits allowed her to further her acquaintance, to view their watercolours and needlework while chatting. Other ladies she had not encountered before, as they attended St George's of Hanover Square. This church was frequented by the Bingleys—as Lizzy had soon discovered when she explained the limited circle of her Hertfordshire acquaintances to a lady who worshipped there.

"Caroline Bingley?" whispered Miss Markham. "Are you friends with her?"

Something in Miss Markham's glassy stare indicated she was not. "Well," said Lizzy. "I do not know her very well. Her brother leased an estate in Hertfordshire near my father's estate. We attended a couple of balls together before they returned to London."

"Her brother is very pleasant, but she positively scares me," confided Miss Markham. "I danced with her brother once, at Almack's." She cast a wary glance at her mother who was busy conversing with Sempronia before lowering her voice further. "It was just after Father suffered a reverse on change. She came over and practically pulled her brother from my side before the last note had died away. The look on her face! Months later, when Father had made up for his losses, she accosted me in Bond Street and laughed it off, apologising and saying she had wanted to introduce her brother to someone and had not meant to cause offence."

"Caroline seems to be very careful of her brother," was all Lizzy would vouchsafe, but it was encouragement enough for the wounded Miss Markham.

"I hear," said Miss Markham, bending closer, "that she thinks her sister could have done better than Mr Hurst. Some say she will be satisfied with nothing less than a title for herself and a titled lady for her brother."

Lizzy's lips momentarily pressed into a thin line as she thought of her sister who, as a squire's daughter and one of the kindest and loveliest ladies in Hertfordshire, should have been appreciated for the great catch that she was. But Lizzy did her best to contain her anger. "Well," she said airily, thinking of the viscount Aldley. "I am sure there are some titles looking for money who would be willing to oblige her."

Thankfully at that moment her aunt got up to take her leave and Lizzy turned the subject to her own leave-taking. But as she got into the carriage, Lizzy realised that Miss Markham's information was not quite accurate—for Mr Darcy did not have a title.

Of course, Darcy House was the destination of one of these morning visits but Mr Darcy himself was absent during their call. Despite the early hour, he had gone to discuss a business proposal at his club. There was some discussion about their attendance at Almack's, with Lady Mickleham offering Georgie a place in her carriage, should her brother not care to attend. Georgie prevaricated, saying that her brother often drove out at that time for evening engagements. But she gratefully accepted a lift home. Somehow during the ensuing conversation, this was converted to an overnight stay at Mickleham House—an event that Georgie had hinted would greatly please her on the two occasions that she had visited Lizzy's suite during her calls.

Lady Mickleham had not been in Darcy House for years—for as a bachelor, Mr Darcy did not entertain. Nonetheless, as they drove away, she expressed the feeling that the house was much as she remembered it years ago. His mother had had such good taste, declared Sempronia. But on reflection, she fancied the son must be responsible for some judicious editing, for Lady Anne had played the harp, not the piano. For her part, Elizabeth's admiration of the restraint in decoration of Darcy House increased on a second viewing, particularly after seeing a few other houses of the Ton. She fancied Darcy House displayed wealth without ostentation but with a eye to comfort.

As for Georgie, put on her mettle* by Lady Mickleham, her usual mischievous demeanour was held under good restraint and for the most part, she was the perfect hostess. One slip came towards the end, just as Lizzy and Sempronia were departing. The servant, Farley, had just opened the front door to escort the visitors out to their carriage when a hackney coach pulled up and Mr Darcy dashed up the stairs.

"I'm so glad I caught you, Miss Bennet," he said, flicking a single unruly curl from one eye that had escaped the mass of his pomaded locks. "My sister tells me you are to attend Almack's for the first time this week. Could I request your hand for a dance?"

Quite astonished at the seeming enthusiasm of his request, Lizzy could only blushingly acquiesce, stammering that her second was free. All was given away though when Georgie clapped her hands and did her little jig—she had put her brother up to it.

As she drove away with her aunt, Lizzy ruefully acknowledged that Georgie was at her most childish whenever her brother was about.

Finally the day of Lizzy's debut at Almack's dawned and preparations started soon after. When her tutors arrived, Lizzy was forced to adopt a cap to hide the papillotte curls* Priddy had inflicted upon her that morning. She discovered during this process that her aunt did wear caps, but only to bed. Priddy had been all condescension to Lizzy's maid Madeleine. Quite contemptuous of the pouffe Madeline had achieved for the salon, Priddy had told the maid she would show her how to do things 'properly' to achieve a more natural look.

The gown they had settled on for Lizzy's debut was a modish chemise á la reine. Her aunt Sempronia had decided a more modest muslin would work better to Lizzy's advantage for her first outing than a silk—at least until she got the nod to dance the waltz by the patronesses. The beautiful gown had a wide coquelicot ribbon set high on the waist. The puff sleeves and hem, seemingly buoyant with Sir Humphry's gas, were decorated with matching embroidery. When it had been delivered, Lizzy and Georgie had taken turns dancing around the empty ballroom of Mickleham House, holding the gown to demonstrate how wonderfully the hem swished and glided over the floor.

Freddy arrived, looking very dapper in black silk knee breeches, to escort his cousin and mother to the assembly rooms in King Street. Due to a problem with the traces on her aunt's carriage, they arrived a little late, just before the dancing was due to begin. Lizzy was introduced to Mr Willis and given a dance card explaining the steps of the quadrille before being ushered inside. She was disappointed to find that Georgiana had not yet arrived, for her friend had assured her of her punctuality. However there was no time to opine over it, for the music struck up and Freddy took Lizzy's hand for the first dance.

No more could have been wanted in a partner. Besides looking handsome and distinguished, Freddy was light on his feet and never erred in his steps. Mr Willis even came up to congratulate them afterwards, saying they were a credit to the establishment and gently chiding Freddy for being a stranger. From this, Lizzy gathered that her cousin had not been to Almack's in a while.

However, there was still no sign of the Darcys when the music began for the second dance for which she had been engaged by Mr Darcy. Lizzy could only assume they had been delayed by a similar problem to what had befallen their own carriage—for Georgie could generally be relied upon. She moved to stand against the wall with Freddy but Mr Willis soon came up to her to introduce a Mr Apposet. There was nothing she could do but acquiesce when he solicited her for a dance. Nor did Freddy escape. Lizzy soon saw him dancing with a very young wallflower who had been standing next to the chair of a formidable dame.

On finishing the set, Mr Apposet escorted Lizzy to the punchbowl where she was positively besieged by a wall of gentlemen demanding a dance including the viscount Aldley. Out came her ivory dance card to be filled with ten names including two viscounts, three baronets and an earl! Clearly Mr Darcy had missed his chance for a dance that night—what could be keeping Georgie? Lizzy began to worry her friend might have fallen ill.

The question was resolved around nine o'clock when the Darcys finally made their appearance. Lizzy was surprised to see them enter with the Bingleys as she twirled on the dance floor—Georgie had not mentioned they would be arriving together. A second glance over her shoulder revealed a darkling look on Georgie's face that Lizzy had only seen fleetingly before on a few occasions when Georgie had been displeased by some injunction of her brother's. The party moved to line a wall, with Caroline and Louisa flanking Darcy on one side and Charles on the other. From her position on the periphery next to the Bingley sisters, Georgie flashed Elizabeth a look of entreaty as she spun past in the dance.

When the music stopped, Lizzy dutifully made her way towards the party to be met partway by Georgie who stepped towards her.

"I'm so sorry," Georgie apologised. "I have missed my dance with Freddy and you have missed yours with my brother!"

Seeing Elizabeth, Darcy also moved forward but was arrested by Caroline who expostulated over something she had seen on the other side of the ballroom with a sunny smile on her face. She dug her hand into his sleeve like a claw and stepped in front of him to whisper in his ear.

Lizzy had no time to enquire what had kept Georgie—though she had a pretty good idea—before Freddy joined their group.

"I'm so sorry, Mr Froome," Georgie apologised. "I was unavoidably detained!"

"No matter," said Freddy. "Is there any room left on your dance card?"

"I still have the eighth free," said Georgie hopefully, glad she had not offended him.

"Excellent!" said Freddy. "The eighth it is."

When Lizzy glanced again in Mr Darcy's direction, she knew that even speaking to him tonight would likely be hopeless. He had been surrounded by a bevy of well-wishers who had come up to greet him. Caroline continued to cling to his arm, flashing smiles in all directions, laughing and gesticulating in an exaggerated manner worthy of the stage. Knowing she was restricting Darcy's movements, it was nauseating to watch.

Nonetheless, Lizzy had no time to dwell on it. The music struck up. Sir Engelbert Greavesby, Brt,* approached her for his dance. Georgie was similarly being importuned by her partner, who Lizzy recognised as the earl who had engaged her for the seventh.

"Promise me, you will sit with me at supper?" begged Georgie.

"Of course," said Lizzy.

No more could be said. Into the dance they went. Lizzy tried her best to focus on her partner and her steps. Sir Engelbert smiled and danced well enough, although Lizzy could not help her eyes from straying to Mr Darcy when her head was turned in that direction. The crowd around him had got bigger and now seemed to be composed mostly of ladies. Finally the set was finished. Lizzy could see Georgie down the line and bid her partner adieu. But Sir Engelbert would not relinquish her hand and was asking if she cared to take a tool in the park with him in his curricle* at the fashionable hour.

Astonished at his forwardness, Lizzy prevaricated. "You'll have to ask my aunt," she said, before adding dampeningly: "She's very strict."

It was Lizzy's intention to warn her aunt to decline such particular invitations. She had no intention of going for a tool in the park in the sole company of any gentleman, even if she did take her maid. How awkward to have to make conversation with a complete stranger!

Having lost Georgie in the throng due to her detention, there was nothing Lizzy could do but approach her aunt to whisper in her ear between sets. Lady Mickleham was seated in a balloon-backed chair, talking to Lady Jersey as she fanned herself. Then the music started again and she was approached by her partner.

During that set she saw Mr Darcy take to the floor with Caroline while Mr Bingley squired a pretty blonde. The rest of the hopeful throng that had surrounded them stood against the wall resentfully, waiting their turn. The pattern repeated during the subsequent sets but it was clear there were far too many ladies for Mr Darcy to dance with them all. Lizzy wondered that they did not take themselves off to preserve their dignity! Meanwhile, Caroline also seemed to be in demand. Lizzy saw her dancing with a succession of partners that included the viscount Aldley.

Finally supper was announced. Lizzy was gratified when Freddy found her immediately. They had agreed to meet by Lady Mickleham's chair, a rendezvous point Lizzy had disclosed to Georgie. After waiting for a minute or two near Lady Mickleham for their friend to join them, they saw Georgie heading to the supper room on her brother's arm, casting an apologetic glance in their direction. The gaggle of ladies followed. Lizzy shrugged at Freddy and stood back to allow her aunt and Lady Jersey to precede them. But instead of joining the press at the double doors of the supper room, they entered another door further along that was unlocked by Mr Willis.

Stepping through it, Lizzy found herself at the empty end of the supper room, farthest from the cold collation around which the other attendees swarmed. Lady Jersey led the way to a corner table for six between two potted palms. Before Lizzy could even volunteer to join the crowd at the supper table to retrieve some food, two footmen appeared with a tray of sandwiches and glasses of punch which they deposited on the table. Elizabeth beamed at her aunt who gave her a wink. Well, this was the life!

She and Freddy then quietly exchanged their experiences of their assembly as Lady Mickleham and Lady Jersey talked of politics. The crowd began to settle themselves at the tables. Clearly by arrangement, Louisa Hurst and her husband had annexed a large nearby table for their party while the others got the food.

"We return from the hunt!" announced Charles as he set a large plate of assorted sandwiches onto the table.

Darcy added another plate and the two friends sat down beside each other. A lady Lizzy did not know then attempted to sit beside Darcy, upon which Caroline emptied her glass of punch over her white dress. The lady gasped with astonishment.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" declared Caroline. "I tripped on your chair leg!"

Darcy handed his handkerchief to the lady to mop her dress but it was soon clear it would not avail against the orange stain. A few expressions of sympathy were directed at the lady by others seating themselves at the table. Excusing herself, the lady set off to the retiring room.

After demanding her brother's handkerchief to save her own dress from the few splashes that had landed on the chair, Caroline took the last seat at the table next to Darcy. Georgie arrived a moment later with a plate of thinly sliced ham to discover all the seats occupied.

"Here!" said Darcy, attempting to give up his seat to his sister, but somehow the legs of his chair had become entangled with Caroline's.

Glancing round, Georgie saw Elizabeth in the corner. "No matter, Brother! I see Elizabeth with Lady Jersey!" said Georgie.

Darcy turned round, saw Elizabeth, and gave her a grateful smile. Half his table turned in her direction, including Bingley who gave a start of surprise.

Georgie arrived at Lady Jersey's table. "May I be permitted to join you? I bring ham!" she added jauntily.

"Of course, my dear!" replied Lady Jersey languidly.

Georgie sat. Under cover of the general hubbub in the room, she proceeded to explain her tardy arrival at the assembly to Elizabeth and Freddy. It seemed the Bingleys had arrived before the Darcys were due to set out. There had been some miscommunication. Caroline had been positively assured that Darcy had accepted a place in Hurst's wide-bodied carriage for the assembly. The Darcy's own carriage, which arrived soon after, had been sent back to the mews. Then Caroline had discovered she had the headache and they had been forced to wait while a powder was fetched and Caroline finally reassured them that the pain had receded.

During this recital Sir Engelbert Greavesby approached their table, clearly hoping to avail himself of the free chair, but retreated hastily upon receiving a freezing glance from Lady Jersey.

The three friends soon reverted to their friendly banter, with Freddy expressing a wish to accompany them on their next visit to Bullock's museum. Despite living practically opposite it, he had never seen its contents either.

Finally supper was down to the last few sandwiches and the musicians could be heard tuning their instruments in the next room. A few couples began to drift back into the ballroom. As the next set was the eighth, Freddy thanked his mother and Lady Jersey for their company, then escorted both Georgiana and Lizzy back to the ballroom. They were intercepted by Lizzy's partner, the viscount Annandale, near the door. At that moment Darcy stood up and his entire table rose en masse.

Still seated at their table, Lady Sempronia and Lady Jersey exchanged glances.

"Should I rescue him, poor darling?" asked Lady Jersey.

"It would be kind," remarked Lady Mickleham.

Back in the ballroom, Freddy and Georgie were chatting gaily while they waited for the other dancers to return.

Freddy watched Darcy's return with amusement. "I believe your Brother could start a cricket team!"

Georgie looked bemused.

"You need eleven for that," explained Freddy, feeling a little stupid for having spoken to her as if she were a friend from Eton.

"I certainly hope Caroline doesn't get her way," whispered Georgie. "I believe she is trying to demand a second dance—at Almack's!"

As they watched, Lady Jersey walked up to speak to Darcy and the group dispersed. Nobody was about to dispute a patroness's right to a dance.

Caroline frowned but contented herself with taking her brother as her partner after he took a step towards Miss Markham who was sitting against the wall.

The musicians struck up the quadrille. Lizzy watched as Lady Jersey and Mr Darcy formed a quartet with Georgie and Freddy. It was soon apparent that their group was without parallel on the dance floor. Not used to the quadrille, Lizzy made one mistake and had her foot promptly trodden on by her partner. On the whole though, when the music stopped, Lizzy thought she had acquitted herself fairly well based on the few lessons she had been given by Freddy.

Turning round, she happened to catch Mr Darcy's eye as he looked around the room. He appeared to grimace at her and she wondered if he had seen her mistake. Then his eyes moved on until he found his sister, to who he gave a very serious nod. Then he was walking off with Lady Jersey. Lizzy saw the eyes of the two of the ladies who had recently been clustering around him watch his retreat with dismay.

Before Lizzy could thank her partner again, two gentlemen accosted her, both claiming to be her next partner. She was forced to adjudicate with her dance card. When she looked up again she saw her aunt and Lady Jersey standing together near a door but of Mr Darcy there was no sign.

All was explained when she next saw Georgie. "Poor brother!" she whispered. "Lady Jersey had to help him escape. The last time he came to Almack's, a lady tore one of the ruffles on his sleeve, trying to prevent him from leaving. I knew it was going to be a bad night when Caroline turned up!"

* * *

 **Footnotes**

topsy-turvy - a jingle (ie like ending, as opposed to the like beginning of alliteration), apparently based on 'top' and obsolete terve 'overturn'. Like 'upside-down', it refers to the top and bottom being interchanged from their usual places. It is interesting to compare with 'arse over tit' and 'head over heels', which have a more dynamic connotation of falling and rotating —like Jack and Jill.

Attested since at least the 16th century, for example,

"They say that... they see the houses turne topsy turuye, and men to walke with theyr heeles vpwarde."

—Richard Eden's The decades of the newe worlde, 1555

chipper—cheerful and lively, perhaps from northern English dialect kipper 'lively'.

delivery—before the invention of postage stamps, the receiver had to pay for the mail to be delivered. The House referred to is the House of Lords. Correspondence of members of the house was carried free by the post to facilitate governance. However it was common for peers to frank personal correspondence for family members and friends. See the Cinder Lizzy Pinterest board for an example.

papillotte curls—elaborate Georgian and Regency curling technique employing tissue paper and a flat iron. By doing the curls this way, Priddy could leave the papers in and relegate the heating process to Lizzy's less experienced maid while she tended to her mistress.

On her mettle—to show the stuff she is made of. 1580s, variant spelling of metal, both forms used interchangeably (by Shakespeare and others) in the literal and figurative senses (1550s) until the spellings diverged early 18c.

hey—a dance step where partners grasp hands, as if to shake them, before changing places.

Bart—baronet, a hereditary title but not a peer.

curricle—a sporty two-wheeled carriage drawn by two horses.

balloon-backed chair—more properly, a 'Mongolfier', designed by Jean–Baptiste Demay in 1785, inspired by hot–air balloons. Victorian balloon-backed chairs, which became popular after 1845, were believed to be a natural evolution of Regency yoke- and scroll-back chairs into a more curvilinear form.

Supper was at eleven according to The Wikipedia page on Almack's.


	15. A for Apology

**You've got a point _amethystWind_. My explanation was overly simplistic. Wikipedia says "Tenants-in-possession of entailed estates occasionally suffered "failure of issue" – that is, they had no legitimate children surviving them at the time of their deaths. In this situation the entailed land devolved to male cousins, i.e. back up and through the family tree to legitimate male descendants of former tenants-in-possession, or reverted to the last owner in fee simple, if still living." It all depends on the wording of the particular entail. I presume Mr Bennet would have been one of these cousins, perhaps the original Mrs Bennet was the favourite sister of the tenant-in-possession, and Mr Collins another.**

 **Thanks for picking up the errors with Bart and repine, _ilex_ - _ferox_.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 14 were:**

 **"The best laid plans" or "Manipulation and interference" by _suddenlysingle_ ,**

 **"Almack's" or "Frustrated Prom" or "Waltz dream" by _WendiaAprigio_ ,**

 **"A Full Card" by _Windchimed_ ,**

 **"Come Out and (Mis)play" or "Missteps at a Dance" or "Debut and Delusions at Almack's" or "Song and Dance and other Stratagems" by _Lauramari_ ,**

 **"Ravenous Affairs" by _nessy22_ ,**

 **"Caroline is no Lamb' by 'Caroline's Punch' or 'Bingley's Missing Backbone" by _ilex_ - _ferox_ ,**

 **"The Almack's Gaggle" by _CanonsburgReader_ ,**

 **"Late to the Dance" or "Orange Nightmare" by guest,**

 **"A Night at Almack's" by _Dizzy_ _Lizzy_. _60_ ,**

 **"Shenanigans at Almack's" or "A scheming Caroline" by _Laure_ _Saint_ – _Yves_ ,**

 **"In Demand" for this chapter or "The Almack's Hunt" by _awesam_**

 **My working title for chapter 14 was "The great escape" but I thought it gave too much away. I considered "The Debut Debacle" based on one of your suggestions, _Lauramari_. I also liked "Missteps at a Dance" by _Lauramari_ and "Caroline's punch" by _ilex_ - _ferox_.**

 **What about "The affair of the punch", "punch drunk" or "King hit?" I'm afraid that last one is an Australianism that means the same as 'sucker punch'. Pity. I think I'll go with "The affair of the punch" based on your suggestion _ilex_ - _ferox_.**

* * *

 **Chapter 15 A for Apology**

Georgie and Lizzy were both more than ready to leave by midnight—the time when Lizzy was used to retiring from country assemblies. Although it was a rule that no one could enter Almack's after the clock struck eleven, with even the Duke of Wellington once most famously turned away,* the dance floor showed little evidence of thinning out. Lizzy was determined however to dance no more than the twelve sets she had originally intended, despite constant petitions from newcomers. Excusing herself afterwards on the basis of 'sore feet', she and Georgie retired to sit with her aunt and Lady Jersey in a small room off the card room.

Extracting her aunt from Lady Jersey's company proved difficult. Apparently they were fast friends and had not seen each other for a while due to the baron's recent illness—her aunt Sempronia was having great fun catching up on all the latest on-dits.* In the end, Lady Jersey had offered Lady Mickleham a place in her carriage on her way back to Berkeley Square so that Freddy might escort Lizzy and a yawning Georgie home in the baron's carriage.

On arriving at Mickleham House, however, Georgie proved far too excited to sleep. The young ladies proceeded to discuss their various partners as their maids undressed them, then brushed and plaited their hair for bed. There was viscount Brumby, whose odd hairstyle with its tiny plaits framing his face and voluminous whiskers, could hardly have failed to make an impression on Lizzy.

"He is not even in the military, but aping the French Hussars," sniffed Georgie. "If my cousin Richard meets him, he will punch him in the nose for being so presumptuous."

"Your cousin Richard sounds very pugnacious," remarked Lizzy.

"He is in the 10th, you know—the Prince's own," said Georgie proudly. "It is a pity he is still on the Continent. He has promised to escort me to Almack's when he gets back. He looks so handsome in his uniform with its silver lace!—though I suppose he will have to wear silk knee breeches."

"Oh, ho!" said Lizzy. "So you are sweet on your cousin?"

"Not really," replied Georgie. "He is just very nice and I feel sorry for him. Cousin Henry is the handsome one—the one who sold me Bear. He will get the earldom too. So it doesn't seem fair."

The conversation continued in this manner for some time as they settled beneath the covers of Lizzy's four poster. Of Darcy and his early exit from the assembly, no mention was made, though the incident frequently occupied Elizabeth's attention so that some of her answers to Georgie's solicitations of her opinion on this or that gentleman were rather absent-minded.

Finally, after the candles had been blown out and the maids departed, Lizzy could not help enquiring.

"Your brother is very popular. I mean—he had so many ladies crowding around him tonight..."

"Oh yes," yawned Georgie. "It is always like that. I suppose it is because he is so reliable and does not do anything horrid like some of the other gentlemen—like gambling or taking snuff or boxing the watch...*"

Lizzy though that Darcy's fortune and the fact he was so handsome might have something to do with it, but when she ventured to enquire what 'boxing the watch' was, not a moment later, she found that Georgie had fallen asleep—practically mid-sentence.

Cuddling Jane's pillow, Lizzy rolled over and fell asleep also.

* * *

Thursday started rather slowly with both ladies sleeping late. They were woken around half past nine when Georgie's maid entered quietly, carrying a pot of chocolate. Lizzy was rather surprised to see her own maid Madeleine tiptoeing behind Celestine, bearing a tray with two cups, for she never took breakfast in bed.

"Ooh!" yawned Georgie. "Is it time to get up already?"

"Yes, ma'am," replied Celestine, "if you are wanting to attend your piano lesson."

Georgie propped herself on her pillows and accepted her cup. "Thank you," she said sleepily.

Madeleine, who had picked up the chocolate pot upon Celestine's setting it down, now queried her mistress with her eyes as to whether she should pour a cup for Elizabeth.

Shrugging, Lizzy accepted the cup from her maid without demur.

The maids removed themselves to the dressing room.

"Ooh! Heavens!" yawned Georgie over her cup. "What a night! If that is typically what one can expect from Almack's, I'm not surprised my brother restricts himself to a few private balls!"

"He did seem rather besieged," agreed Lizzy, sipping the chocolate distastefully. It seemed to cling to her teeth.

"Caroline's behaviour was outrageous!" expostulated Georgie. "Was it as obvious to you that she deliberately tipped that punch all over Miss Cleevely as it was to me?"

"Was it Miss Cleevely? I have not met her," remarked Lizzy. Then, after another sip: "Knowing Caroline as I do, it was fairly obvious."

"I just cannot believe her! If she thinks she will get my brother with such scheming tricks, she is mistaken! Darcy abhors scheming females."

"Really? He seemed not to object to being herded around," observed Lizzy coolly.

"He would never make a scene—especially at Almack's. But the fact that he took Lady Jersey's offer to let him out the back way was telling!"

"Is that what happened?" asked Lizzy. "I saw him walk off with Lady Jersey after the quadrille but was distracted by two gentlemen."

"Did you not observe Caroline afterwards?—continually looking towards the door he was ushered out? Did you not notice her pouting when she realised he was not going to return?"

"I'm afraid I did not. I tried to look her way as little as possible."

"The hide of her!" seethed Georgie. "Bamboozling her brother into thinking that Darcy had agreed to a place in their carriage and imposing herself on us! Yes!—and causing you to miss your dance with Darcy! She is too much! After all my trouble in getting him to ask!"

Lizzy smiled on having her suspicions confirmed. "Now who is the scheming female?" she asked with a smile.

Georgie blushed. "I am no match for Caroline, that is for sure! I could kick myself! I made the mistake of telling her that I was already engaged to dance with Freddy for the second when she tried to get her brother to ask me to dance. I suspect she discovered my brother intended to dance with you through Charles... It is not that I dislike Charles. I know my brother would not disdain him as a brother-in-law, but I am not ready to be married yet, and I simply could not bear to have Caroline as my sister! To see her installed at Pemberley, which I am sure is her ultimate design—every feeling revolts!"

Lizzy was a little worried that Georgie was in such a passion that she was about to upset her chocolate all over the sheets. Fortunately disaster was averted when there was a knock and Lizzy's aunt sailed into the room, fully attired for the day.

"I heard you were awake, my dears," she said by way of apology. "Did you enjoy your evening?"

"I was just complaining about Caroline Bingley," grumbled Georgie. "How did she get a voucher? Her sister Louisa was not given one when she came out."

"I believe there was some discussion about her admittance," confided Lady Mickleham. "Ladies from several families in the West who were offered vouchers did not come to London last year for fear of the measles, which I believe was circulating. So some late second-round offers were made. Miss Bingley's sister married into the Ton and her dowry is good."

"I think the patronesses should be more careful with their second-round offers," declared Georgie.

Lady Mickleham smiled impishly. "What is given can be taken away," she hinted.

"Ooh!" squeaked Georgie. "Did Lady Jersey tell you that?"

"I really couldn't say," replied Sempronia airily. "But I don't think she was thrilled about Miss Bingley's admission in the first place and Miss Cleevely is one of her protégés."

And with that tantalising information Lady Mickleham sailed out again, saying she would leave them to their own devices at breakfast, for she was having breakfast with the baron in his chambers.

On going downstairs, Lizzy and Georgie found Freddy waiting for them in the dining room, reading a newspaper.

"Does your valet not feed you?" teased Elizabeth.

"Sadly his culinary expertise is the least of his abilities," agreed Freddy, folding his paper, "and my club is so empty at this time of the morning."

"Ah, well!" sighed Elizabeth. "You will just have to put up with our poor company!"

Freddy grinned appreciatively and immediately asked Miss Darcy how she had enjoyed her debut at Almack's.

Elizabeth was afraid this would lead to a recrudescence of Caroline, but fortunately Georgie chose to dwell on happier memories. They were soon swapping opinions with all the ease of old friends.

The Darcy carriage arrived to take Elizabeth and Georgie to their piano lesson. Elizabeth had half-hoped that Darcy might arrive with it, for he had never really apologised for missing their dance last night and Georgie was sure he intended to do so.

After the lesson, Georgie regretfully dropped Lizzy back at Mickleham House. She was obliged to spend the afternoon with her aunt Matlock at her house in Richmond. But before leaving Georgie hoped that she might have the chance to stay overnight again—she had enjoyed it so much. Her dressing case and trunk were loaded into the carriage by a footman and her maid. Georgie drove off, waving.

As it was a nice day, it was Lizzy's intention to take the novel she was currently reading to the back garden to get some sun in the little conservatory. But as she was doffing her pelisse in the vestibule, another carriage drove up and Miss Markham mounted the steps with another lady.

"Oh, I'm so glad I caught you!" cried Miss Markham upon being admitted. "I came past earlier but you were at your piano lesson! This is my friend, Amelia Bentham."

"How do you do, Miss Bentham?" nodded Lizzy politely. "Would you care to take tea?"

While Lizzy was prepared to forego her novel, she was not willing to forego the sun, so they took tea in the conservatory.

After the usual pleasantries had been exchanged, Miss Markham got straight to the point.

"Well, did you ever see such outrageous behaviour as exhibited by Miss Caroline Bingley last night? I thought for sure she was on the verge of announcing her engagement to the viscount Waltham! But she seems to have her claws into Mr Darcy!"

"Well, she is aiming for the moon there!" scoffed Miss Bentham. "His family intends him for his cousin Anne de Bourgh, who has a handsome estate in Kent, with a handsome income to match!"

"But to empty her glass of punch into Miss Cleevely's lap! Well! I have never seen the like!"

"I would not feel too sorry for Miss Cleevely," sniffed Miss Bentham. "I went to see her this morning—to give her my commiserations, you know. She has already laundered Mr Darcy's handkerchief and is saying he gave it to her as a token of his affection!"

"Nooo!" said Miss Markham, scandalised. And then, "Does it have his initials on it?"

"Yes! F. A. D! Do you know what the A stands for?" asked Miss Bentham, turning to Lizzy.

Lizzy shook her head in bemusement. As Georgie's friend, she seemed to have become an expert on her brother.

"Does your aunt have a copy of Debrett's?" asked Miss Markham.

"I have no idea," said Lizzy, plaintively thinking of her novel and wishing she could be alone with it.

Miss Markham and Miss Bentham seemed to stay forever, long after the tea and sandwiches were gone, talking of this and that vacuous topic. Lizzy was heartily glad to get rid of them. They went off in search of Darcy's middle name—Miss Bentham was sure the Brentwoods had a copy of Debrett's.

After seeing her guests off in the vestibule, Lizzy was surprised when the butler announced that they appeared to have another guest before he could close even the front door. Lizzy was surprised to see Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley descend from a hackney coach. She was certainly glad they had not been a moment earlier, she was sure the visiting ladies would have found an excuse to stay.

Blanching, Lizzy asked Stephens to show the visitors into the saloon while she fetched her aunt.

She was not obliged to knock on the baron's bedchamber door, however, for after ascending the stairs, she met her aunt coming along the hallway.

On hearing that Mr Darcy had arrived, Sempronia smiled and nodded sagely. "I expected nothing less of him."

The gentlemen both rose when the ladies entered the saloon, clutching their gloves. Lizzy noticed that Mr Bingley looked quite nervous.

"Miss Elizabeth," started Darcy immediately. "I beg you to forgive me for missing our dance last night. I did not presume to ask for another. I expect your dance card was already full?"

Sempronia smiled at him and nodded graciously before looking expectantly at her niece.

"Thank you," said Elizabeth, rather amused he had shifted the obligation onto her. If Miss de Bourgh was his intended, no doubt dancing with other ladies was a tiresome duty. "It _was_ full. Georgie explained how you were unexpectedly delayed." Darcy bit his lips and looked at his friend but Bingley seemed to be having some trouble forming his sentences. Two pink spots had formed on his cheeks. He gulped.

"Would you gentlemen care for some tea?" interposed Lady Mickleham.

"Thank you!" said Bingley overloudly.

Lady Mickleham rang the bell and invited everyone to sit again.

After the servant had left the room, Bingley finally managed to compose himself.

"Lady Mickleham, it has come to my attention that you were kind enough to extend an invitation to my family to attend your recent salon. I regret, through some inexplicable error, I was completely unaware of the invitation and only came to know of it through Darcy. Indeed, Darcy invited me to join him at the salon informally, which I would not presume to do."

"Thank you, Mr Bingley," smiled Sempronia. "I did extend an invitation to you. Elizabeth was very keen to have you attend and I had not forgotten your kind offices when I turned up at your ball, unheralded."

A weight seemed to have been lifted from Bingley's shoulders. He relaxed into his chair, glancing with relief at Darcy.

"And how did you find your first night at Almack's, Miss Elizabeth?" Darcy asked conversationally.

"Oh, quite entertaining," replied Elizabeth. "It was my first quadrille but Freddy had schooled me well and I only made the one mistake."

Over tea, the conversation continued, pleasantly enough, along these lines until Mr Bingley asked Elizabeth if she had heard from her family in Hertfordshire.

"Oh, yes!" replied Lizzy. "I have already exchanged several letters with Jane. We find it hard to get on without each other, you know."

Bingley blushed. "Is your sister well?"

Lizzy was a little annoyed at his sudden solicitude. "She is not as well as I would like," she replied cautiously. "Previously, we were rarely parted, so she is a little lonely," she said, hoping he would take her meaning. A sudden inspiration hit her. "Indeed, she was rather glad of the company of your sisters to fill the gap. She was very sad to hear you had all removed to London for the winter. Do you think you will be returning to Netherfield soon?"

"Yes!" said Bingley, almost dropping his teacup. "I mean, it was my original intention not to vacate for the winter. There is much to be done on the estate with regard to repairs and Darcy says winter is the best time to get that sort of thing done."

"Yes," added Darcy. "It does not snow in Hertfordshire as frequently as Derbyshire."

"And will you also be returning to Netherfield, Mr Darcy?" asked Elizabeth, more to extend the topic than out of any genuine interest.

The two gentlemen looked at each other, as if deciding who should speak first. Lizzy could almost feel the tension between them. In the end, it was Darcy who spoke.

"As much as I would like to assist Bingley with Netherfield, I fear rather a lot has come up to keep me here."

"Yes, but I should return," added Bingley. "I'm afraid my sisters are rather committed to the Season here in London, so I won't be doing any entertaining. But I am quite committed to bringing the estate up to scratch..."

Darcy nodded.

"...And I expect your father would not begrudge me the occasional game of backgammon, Miss Elizabeth?"

Lizzy smiled. "Certainly not."

The clock in the inner vestibule struck the hour.

"I expect we should be going," suggested Darcy, getting up to take his leave.

Bingley accordingly rose.

"And thank you for your hospitality to my sister," said Darcy, smiling particularly at Elizabeth. "I expect I will hear about it for the next week."

Elizabeth replied with proper civility.

"It was a pleasure to have her, Mr Darcy," agreed Lady Mickleham, as she got up to walk him to the door.

Stephens was waiting in the hall to escort the gentlemen downstairs.

"This does not acquit you of your promise to dance with my niece at Almack's, Mr Darcy," said Sempronia confidentially as she neared him.

"I know not when I will next be at Almack's," whispered Darcy in return. "You will not take the will for the deed?"

"Only for the interim," conceded Lady Mickleham, showing her teeth.

The gentlemen departed, closing the door behind them.

"There!" said Sempronia. "That was very well done! Are you appeased?"

"Perhaps," said Lizzy enigmatically.

Lady Mickleham pulled the bell to summon the servants to clear up. Not used to having a great number of servants, Lizzy absentmindedly tidied the teacups onto the tray. It was then she noticed the dove gray glove on the floor.

"Oh! One of them has dropped a glove!" said Lizzy. The slim glove was not much bigger than her own hand. She rather fancied it must be Bingley's.

"Hopefully they will realise when Stephens gives them their hats," said Sempronia, "but you had better run down before they hail a hackney."

The gentlemen were already out the door by the time Lizzy arrived back downstairs and, without thinking, she did what she would naturally have done at Longbourn, by pursuing them outdoors. They had not hailed a cab*, but were walking off in the direction of St James.

Running up to them, Lizzy proffered the glove. "Are either of you missing...?"

Bingley stopped short, a shout of recognition issuing from his lips. He dug his hand into the pocket of his greatcoat and removed a single matching glove.

"Well!" he grinned sheepishly. "I feel a little like Cinderella! Thank you, Miss Elizabeth!"

Mr Darcy waited patiently a few feet away.

Having unexpectedly snatched an almost private moment with Mr Bingley, Lizzy could not resist. "Mr Bingley," she whispered, "my cousin, Mr Collins, is visiting Longbourn this week. As he is the heir to the estate, it is his intention to marry one of my sisters."

Bingley paled.

"...before Christmas," added Lizzy, hoping to stress the urgency of the situation.

Bingley nodded. "Thank you, Miss Elizabeth," he said, taking the glove and stuffing it into his pocket with its mate.

Darcy doffed his hat to her. Then Lizzy watched them walk off together along Piccadilly. Darcy's voice drifted over his shoulder.

"Bingley, you would forget your head if it wasn't screwed on!*"

* * *

 **Footnotes**

Duke of Wellington—apparently the Duke was once turned away although it is not clear if it was because he was late or he was wearing long trousers rather than silk knee breeches.

on dits—gossip, from French, literally 'they say'.

boxing the watch—baiting those in charge of law and order after dark. In poorer parishes, this was done by citizens on a rota basis but in richer parishes, the community hired watchmen. Of a lower social order

Cab—short for cabriolet, a type of two-wheeled carriage. Still used interchangeably with taxi in Australia.

head screwed on—there are several idioms using screws and heads which seem to allude to machines and intelligence, possibly to automata, which have existed since the 18th century. To have a 'screw loose' is to behave erratically or to be stupid. To have one's head screwed on right; is to be capable [Slang; early 1800s]. 'You would lose your head if it wasn't screwed on' implies you are forgetful.


	16. Breeches and promise

**The sandwiches were roast beef and chutney. Thanks for enquiring, I've put that in the master :)**

 **I also should have pointed out that I based the description of Lizzy's Almack's gown on a real one. Head over to the Pinterest board for Cinder Lizzy Fredrica Edward to see it.**

 **Please remember to keep your criticism constructive in the reviews. Saying something is bad or wrong without providing evidence is just trolling. As a remedy, try getting out of the other side of the bed in the morning. Better still, put in some effort and suggest an improvement!**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 15 were:**

 **'Tea and Sympathy' by _FatPatricia515_ ,**

 **"The Morning After" or "Of Gossip and Tea" by _Chica_ _de_ _Los_ _Ojas_ _Cafe_ ,**

 **'Forgetting the head' by _WendiaAprigio_ ,**

 **'The Morning After the Night Before' by _ilex_ - _ferox_ ,**

 **'head over heels' by _nessy22_ ,**

 **"Morning after Almack's Gossip and Apologies" or "What does that letter A stand for in F.A.D." by guest,**

 **"The A Stands for Apology" by _Windchimed_.**

 **Oh, very good, _Windchimed_! "A for Apology" it is!**

* * *

 **Chapter 16 Breeches and promise**

Having been reminded so forcibly of Hertfordshire, Lizzy could not settle down to reading her novel afterwards. Several attempts to read the same page found her mind drifting elsewhere, her thoughts turned to Jane. Had Mr Bingley caught her meaning? Would he do anything? Mr Darcy's joking remark hardly inspired confidence.

Lizzy could not bear writing to Jane again when everything was so up in the air.* Instead she put down her book and wrote her first letter to Charlotte. She did miss Charlotte's earthy humour. Lizzy wrote of her adventures, keeping it to one sheet and apologising for the expense. She did not feel right in asking the baron to frank a letter to a friend rather than family.

Mr Bingley, on the other hand, wended his way to White's with Darcy, for that had been their agreed course of events: a glass of brandy at Darcy House to fortify themselves, the joint apology at Mickleham House, then a rewarding pint at Darcy's club. But rather than quaffing his brew, Bingley stared at the foam in the top of his tankard.

"I meant to ask her that night at the ball, you know—on the terrace," he said morosely.

Darcy sighed. He could see his normally chirpy friend was quite affected. He had hoped their agreed course of action would be therapeutic after this morning's cataclysmic events.

Bingley had been having a terrible argument with Caroline when Darcy had arrived at Hurst's townhouse, bent on ensuring the events of last night were never repeated. There had been such screaming and breaking of china coming from the breakfast room when he had arrived that Darcy had almost cravenly departed again. But when Hurst's butler calmly offered to escort him to the small room off the library that Bingley used as his study, as if nothing awful was going forward at all, Darcy had resolutely followed. He felt the least he could do was give his friend the opportunity to escape, if Charles was indeed the target of the projectiles.

Darcy had sat there for several minutes, waiting for his friend, wondering why Bingley didn't take over the whole library. He was fairly sure Hurst had never set foot there. Charles had then burst in to confirm the nature of his argument with his sister.

"Caroline has gone quite mad!" Charles had confided, chewing on his knuckle distractedly. "Fancy ignoring an offer to one of Lady Mickleham's salons! She thought it would be best if she didn't mention it to me! That damned voucher for Almack's has quite gone to her head!"

So Darcy had suggested they walk round to Mickleham House to offer their joint apologies. But possibly alerted by the sound of the front door opening that Charles might be escaping before he had waved the white flag, Caroline had pursued her brother into the street.

The sweep who had been arranging his brooms after cleaning next door's chimneys was rather surprised to see the red-faced lady burst through the front door, then hastily rearrange her face into a saccharine smile. He had never before been shown such gratifying deference to his sensibilities. Darcy and Bingley had jumped into a passing hackney, pretending not to hear when Caroline sweetly offered them tea.

Having ticked the apology to Elizabeth from his mental list of remedial actions necessary to restore his peace of mind, Darcy had then broached the next unpleasant resolution to his friend as they walked towards St. James Street—to never again attend an evening function with the Bingleys as a group. He had been rather surprised and a little taken aback when Bingley had distractedly agreed without demur. Charles was clearly greatly disturbed in his mind.

Once seated inside White's, the object of Bingley's anguished mutterings had soon revealed themselves to be Jane Bennet. Darcy gave in. Clearly his friend's problems were larger than his own.

"Ask who, what?" he asked gently.

"Jane," said Bingley, extracting a ring from his pocketbook and staring at it forlornly. "I had intended to ask her to marry me at the ball and announce it over supper. I've been carrying this round for a good four weeks now. But then I realised I hadn't asked Mr Bennet's permission ...and Lady Mickleham arrived ...and I discovered Elizabeth was an heiress. The time didn't seem quite right.""I know what you mean," said Darcy ruefully. He had spent a few sleepless nights ruing his former behaviour and wondering how to make amends. That was why he had found Caroline's actions last night so doubly annoying. He was quite tired of her encroaching behaviour.

"Nonetheless, we have both decided to live our lives better," continued Darcy. "I—to be less cynical; and you—to remember who wears the breeches in your family."

"It is easier said than done," said Bingley. "Caroline may be only one year older than me but it seems more. She has been bossing me around since I was breeched.* So I don't think the breeches were off to a good start!"

"Nonetheless, your family's fortune is in your hands, Bingley. Your father had faith in you. Have some faith in yourself."

Bingley groaned. "I wish I had made the announcement at the ball, before I became aware that Caroline was against it. I thought they were friends! What could she possibly have against a sweet girl like Jane?"

"I believe your sister has higher ambitions for you, Charles. The question is, are you serious enough about Jane Bennet to brook your sister's disapproval?"

"She's my sister, Darcy! Louisa and Caroline are the only close relatives I have left in this world!"

"Louisa is already married, Bingley, and Caroline will be soon too."

"But I don't wish to be estranged from them! And Caroline has said she will never talk to me again if I go back to Netherfield alone. Indeed, she says I must stay in London to escort her to Almack's."

"That is a very silly position for her to take, from several points of view. The Hursts can escort her and you must not neglect your estate. You must make up your own mind, Bingley, of what is best for your future and disregard idle threats. A wife is forever, so the real question is—is Jane Bennet the lady you wish to spend the rest of your life with?"

Bingley stared into the fire for a moment, as if hoping the flames would reveal his path. He imagined Jane handing him a cup of tea at breakfast, waking up beside her, and...

"Yes!" he said resolutely.

Bingley picked up his tankard and took a few gulps, nodding absently to himself in affirmation. Then he looked at Darcy. "But I am promised to play billiards with Lord Catchpole this afternoon..."

Darcy frowned. "Non sequitur, Bingley. What does that have to do with Jane Bennet? You can always set off tomorrow."

"Miss Elizabeth implied there was some urgency, Darcy. Apparently her cousin, who is staying at Longbourn, is looking for a wife..."

Understanding dawned on Darcy's face. "Well, what are you waiting for, man?" said Darcy. "Hop to it! I'll explain to Lord Catchpole."

Bingley jumped up and shook Darcy's hand heartily. "Thank you, my friend! Thank you!"

Darcy good-naturedly clapped his friend on the shoulder and wished him luck, then was forced to run after Bingley when his friend walked straight past the cloakroom, completely forgetting to retrieve his hat and coat.

* * *

After exiting White's, Bingley hailed a hackney and directed it towards Grosvenor St. But halfway there, he thought better of returning to the lion's den for his effects—Caroline was sure to put a rub in his way. Instead, he redirected the hackney driver to the nearest posting house.

Half an hour later, he was cantering across Hampstead Heath on a hired horse, feeling a little like a knight setting out on a grand quest. It was dark by the time he got to St Albans and for safety's sake he transferred to a post-chaise, the postboys having assured him they knew well the way to Longbourn, which was on a post road.

Having settled himself into the bounding carriage by the dim light of the lamps, Bingley began to have second thoughts about proceeding so directly after noticing his breeches were slightly bespattered with mud. He could hardly present himself to his prospective bride in such a state. Sticking his head out of the carriage, he yelled new directions to the postboys and after bringing the carriage to a halt for a confab,* they proceeded to their revised destination of Meryton, while Bingley decided how best to proceed from there. He could try to repair his appearance at the Red Lion but he rather thought his best chances for respectability lay at Netherfield, where he was sure Mrs Nicholls must still be in possession of some of his clothes, or so his valet thought. The question was whether he could remember the way in the dark...

At the Red Lion, his dilemma was solved when a small village boy approached him begging for alms. On being asked the way to Netherfield, the boy quickly offered his assistance and was hoisted up behind the lead postboy after the horses were changed.

Thus Bingley arrived at Netherfield around six and was greeted by an astounded Mrs Nicholls who wrung her hands, for she had only prepared a humble dinner for the servants.

"I don't need dinner," averred Bingley. "But I was rather hoping I'd left a pair of breeches here. I'm going over to Longbourn and got a little dirty on the road."

Mrs Nicholls had indeed cleaned his breeches.

While the postboys and the urchin waited patiently, Bingley's appearance was restored and, armed with a bottle of fine port from his own cellars, Charles wended his way to Longbourn via Meryton, hoping to gain admission. The village boy was restored to the Main Street of Meryton with a florin* in his hand and immediately ran to bang on the baker's door.

Arriving at the local tap in the village of Longbourn, Bingley bid the postboys wait in the inn and handed them some coins to refresh themselves. Then, gripping his bottle of port nervously, he headed for the gates of the manor house on foot. Of course, Charles knew what he was doing was highly irregular, but having come to his decision, he was determined not to fail at the last hurdle. He knocked at the door resolutely.

Admitted by a startled Mr Hill, who Bingley could clearly see suspected him of having already broached the bottle in his hand, Charles was left to cool his heels in the vestibule while the master was acquainted with his extraordinary request for backgammon.

"I rather fancy the master is occupied, sir. But I'll let him know that you're here," offered the bemused servant.

Not five minutes later, Mr Bennet walked into the vestibule with a rather enigmatic smile on his face.

"Mr Bingley! Backgammon? I had no idea you were a proponent of the game. Well, this is very interesting! Come, come, let us make our way to my study."

After lighting a candle with a spill, Mr Bennet retrieved two lead crystal glasses from a cabinet, unearthed a backgammon board from the recesses of his desk and proceeded to set up the pieces.

Mr Bingley resolutely filled the two glasses and picked up the dice box but Mr Bennet stayed his hand.

"I'm only teasing you, son," said Mr Bennet. "I've got a daughter in there who hasn't been her cheery self since the Netherfield ball. I do hope you've returned here to do something about it?"

Bingley blanched. "Y..yes, sir. I mean if it's not too late and, of course, I wanted to seek your approval."

Having taken kindly to Bingley at their first meeting, Mr Bennet was not about to throw a rub in his eldest daughter's happiness, despite thinking him a rather silly young cub.

"You have it, son. But the field is rather crowded with knaves. First we have my cousin, Mr Collins, who has been trying to wear Jane down all week. He has to go back to Kent tomorrow, so tonight is his last chance to make an offer. My wife has spent all night herding him towards Mary but he only has eyes for Jane. I expect he will propose in company—to give her less chance of escape. If that is not bad enough, Mr Goulding has been making a damned nuisance of himself lately. Mrs Bennet thinks he can be fobbed off on Kitty or Lydia. I believe his stratagem is to swoop in at the last moment and 'rescue' Jane from Mr Collins. He obviously thinks he is the better of two weevils, and I think he might be right there."

Bingley frowned. "About him being a weevil or the better of the two?"

Mr Bennet smiled. "I can see your university education has put you in good stead. You are quick as a fox."

Bingley bit his lip, unsure if Mr Bennet was making game of him. "What should I do?"

"Well, we have just finished dessert and are about to move to the parlour, where I expect Mr Collins will make his move once I walk back into the room. Now, here is my cunning plan..."

* * *

When Mr Bennet arrived back in the parlour with a glass of port, Mr Collins, who was seated next to an ashen-faced Jane, stood and rested his arm on the mantelpiece. He cleared his throat.

"Now that the current Master of Longbourn has returned," Mr Collins announced pompously, "I have a little announcement to make as the prospective incumbent."

Mr Goulding rolled his eyes and looked perturbed. He had been trying to catch Jane's eye all through dinner, but Lydia kept leaning in front of him to exchange witticisms across the table with Kitty. Now it looked as the though this interloper was going to preempt him by making a public declaration to Jane. Perhaps he would have to outfence him by implying he had asked Jane first—before dinner. Surely Jane would play along to escape such a wizened little gnome?

"I beg your indulgence, Mr Collins," said Mr Bennet. "I wish to preserve this moment in my mind's eye. Jane, dear, run and fetch my spectacles from the study."

Jane looked up, surprised, then hurried from the room. She looked as though she might burst out crying. Mr Bennet hoped that she did not run out into the night to escape her fate, as Lizzy might have done. But on reflection he had decided that Jane was a good girl who would do as she was told, and sure enough, she turned in the hallway towards the study.

"Mrs Bennet," said the squire. "I fancy it is a good time to broach that bottle of Madeira I set aside. You know, the one that Sir William gave me a year ago."

Mrs Bennet looked in astonishment at the glass already in Mr Bennet's hand—it was not often that he thought of the comfort of others—but she hurried to comply. Things were not quite turning out the way she had planned but at least she would have one daughter betrothed tonight, which in her mind was a good start.

Thus were a good five minutes occupied in retrieving the requested bottle and charging the glasses. But when a good quarter of an hour had passed without Jane's reappearance and smalltalk was thinning out, Mrs Bennet glanced imploringly at her husband to expedite Jane's return.

Meanwhile, Jane had entered the study and, upon unexpectedly finding her wayward lover there, promptly fainted. The perplexed Mr Bingley had managed to grasp Jane in his arms before she hit the rug and lower her into a chair. Having neither burnt feathers nor hartshorn nor sal volatile* nor any other thing typically administered to Caroline when she was overcome, Bingley picked up his glass of port and put it to his beloved's lips.

Jane's eyelids fluttered open. "Charles!" she breathed.

Jane's proximity proved too much. Charles could not resist Jane's moistened lips and Jane gladly submitted to her first proper kiss.

When both came up for air almost a minute later, Jane could only squeak her amazement. "Charles, how did you get here?"

"I'm afraid there is little time for explanations or even proper apologies, dear Jane. But I meant to ask you something at the Netherfield ball. Would it be too presumptuous of me to ask it now?"

"Oh, no!" blushed Jane.

Fumbling in his pocket, Charles produced a ring and got down on one knee. "Dear Jane, would you be my wife?"

* * *

Having put down his port glass and sighed artfully in response to his wife's request, "No doubt, I left my spectacles in an unlikely place..." Mr Bennet made to get up, but was spared the effort when Jane wandered back into the room clasping Mr Bingley's hand.

Mrs Bennet was speechless.

"Ah! You were able to make it after all, Mr Bingley!" said Mr Bennet urbanely. "Well, charge your glass! Mr Collins is about to make an important announcement."

Mr Collins went first red and then white. Having had the prize snatched from his very fingers, he could only console himself with the knowledge that he had been advised that Jane was spoken for. Nor did he fail to notice the ring on Jane's finger as she filled a fresh glass for Mr Bingley. In their state of bliss, the happy couple had left Bingley's glass of port in the study.

Everyone looked at Mr Collins expectantly. He cleared his throat again then rose nobly to the occasion. "As future Master of Longbourn, it has long been my intention to show charity to my poor cousins whose circumstances will be grievously changed by their father's death..."

There was an uncomfortable silence during which Mr Bennet slightly raised one eyebrow.

"Well, perhaps not Elizabeth..." Mr Collins hurried on. "Nor Jane," he added generously, smiling tightly at Mr Bingley.

"As I am in happy occupation of a delightful rectory, thanks to my generous patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, there seems little reason to wait until that melancholy day to share the bounty. I therefore ask, on bended knee," and here he rather clumsily sank to the floor, "Miss Mary Bennet, will you be my wife?"

Mary nodded solemnly and stepped forward to claim her prize. Everyone clapped. Mrs Bennet began her effusions: first, quite rightfully, to Mr Collins; and then, more sustainingly, to Jane and Mr Bingley. Lydia and Kitty jumped about with excitement. Only one person could not share in the general felicity.

From the moment Jane had re-entered the room with Mr Bingley, Mr Goulding's face had been a mask. He had left his father's estate that evening assuring his anxious parent he would arrive home a betrothed man. Now, he swigged his Madeira in disgust, gave a curt bow to Mr Bennet and left. No one else noticed his departure for a good half-hour.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

up in the air—unresolved, refers to unsettled particles or matter floating in the air. "In the air" has been used with a similar meaning since the mid 1700s, and this exact phrase has been in use since the first half of 1900s. Source:

short pants—boys started in dresses till they were toilet trained; then moved to short pants (breeches). Another way of saying this would be 'since I was breeched'.

confab—a short informal discussion, early 18th century.

Florin—a British coin worth two shillings. Originally minted in Florence, hence the name, florins were once minted by most European nations.

spill—a thin strip of wood or paper used for lighting a fire, candle, pipe, etc. Origin Middle English (in the sense 'sharp fragment of wood'): obscurely related to spile. The current sense dates from the early 19th century. Oxford dictionary.

burnt feathers nor hartshorn nor sal volatile—the last two are both ammonia solutions, hartshorn was made from powdered deer antler whereas sal volatile was a scented solution of ammonium carbonate in alcohol. I'm not sure what the active ingredient in burnt feathers is. Does anyone know? After some research, the major component of feathers and hair is keratin. When burnt, this would likely yield ammonia compounds (again!) from the peptide bonds, plus some sulphur compounds from the cross-linking disulphides.

poesy ring—a ring with an inscription on the inner surface of the band.


	17. Cousins and correspondence

**Alright** , **point taken, _ilex_ - _ferox_. It's always difficult deciding if one should used the older or newer version of an idiom—whether to be historically correct or aid comprehension. These divergences of meaning for certain words are particular fraught. In deference to UK sensibilities, I have changed 'pants' to 'breeches' in my master. Incidentally, my grandfather used to refer to his trousers as 'britches', which all his grandchildren thought hilarious. **

**As to the fate of the property in Surrey, I hadn't worked it out, but let's say it was not entailed and that Basil sold it to pay his debts on learning he had inherited the larger Longbourn.**

 **With regard to dance cards, there are examples from the 18th Century but they became much more common in the Victorian period, probably along with the rise of the middle class. You only need one if you are at a ball where you do not know people well, which would not have been the case at a country assembly.**

 **Thanks for finding that error, _alix33_. My iPad didn't flag it as one.**

 **Based on feedback, I put my best guess for the revivifying properties of burnt feathers in the footnotes for chapter 16.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 16 were:**

 **"Neatly played", "Elizabeth saves the day", "A surfeit of suitors", "My boyfriends back and there's gonna be trouble" [slight variation from the actual lyrics which are and you're gonna be in trouble],** **"Of all these friends and lovers, there is no one compares with you", "It had to be you" by _suddenlysingle_ ,**

 **"Saved by the bell" by _maeseaview_ ,**

 **"it was a close call!" by _Deanna27_ ,**

 **"Betrothals and Near Misses", "Betrothals and Close Calls"** **or the Shakespearean inspired "All's Well That Ends Well." By _Lauramari_ ,**

 **"Turnabout is Fair Play" by _nanciellen_ ,**

 **"Who will get there first" by _liysyl_ ,**

 **"An unexpected request!" by _WendiaAprigio_ ,**

 **'Cow in a China Shop', 'Domestic Disturbance' or 'Storm with a Teacup' for Caroline's crockery destruction but I think Bingley's new backbone should be celebrated, so may I offer either 'No White Flag at White's' or a play on his near breach of promise with 'Breeches and Promise' or even 'Best of Three'? by _ilex_ - _ferox_ **

**"Charles taking charge" or "Short pants to breeches" by justafan2111,**

 **"Executing decisiveness" by _vaarin_ ,**

 **"Cat and Mice" by _windchimed_ ,**

 **"A cunning plan" by _Laure_ _Saint_ - _Yves_.**

 **Oh, so many good ones! including "A surfeit of suitors" by _suddenlysingle_ , "A cunning plan" by _Laure_ _Saint_ - _Yves_ , and "All's Well That Ends Well" by _Lauramari_. "Cow in a China Shop', and 'Storm with a Teacup' made me laugh, but I really couldn't top 'Breeches and Promise', also by _ilex_ - _ferox_ , which is, of course, a play on "Breach of promise"—what Bingley would have been guilty of if he hadn't gone back to Jane.**

* * *

 **Chapter 17** **Cousins and correspondence**

The next morning was pure torment for Elizabeth as she awaited further news from her sister. She lost both her concentration and her appetite. During Mr Proctor's discourse, she found herself adrift several times, struggling to pick up the thread of the lesson. She played several wrong notes during her piano lesson, causing Master Pastrini to wince. Thus when Georgie was obliged to wait on her aunt Matlock again after their lesson, Lizzy was not too sorry, for she felt she was poor company.

On being returned to Mickleham House by the Darcy carriage, Lizzy's heart stopped on seeing a letter from Jane lying on the salver. Knowing that Jane would have written only once the die had been cast* and believing it too soon for yesterday's intervention with Mr Bingley to have borne fruit, Lizzy hurried upstairs in some trepidation. Seating herself by her bedchamber window, Lizzy tore open the seal, with the sound of her heart beating between her ears.

But upon scanning the first few lines of Jane's missive, Lizzy immediately relaxed and a broad grin appeared on her face.

" _Dearest Lizzy,_

 _I am the happiest lady in all England. Mr Bingley reappeared unexpectedly last night to propose. I hardly know what caused him to return to Longbourn so precipitately, but he cannot have arrived at a more opportune time, as it was Mr Collins' last night here and he was bent on declaring himself. Papa was called away from the dinner table by Mr Hill just before we removed to the parlour. He came back with a strange smirk on his face. When Mr Collins got up to make his speech, Papa requested that I retrieve his spectacles from his study, and who should I find there, but Charles! Papa later told me that Mr Bingley came to play backgammon and joked as we bid each other goodnight that he fully expected me to call my first child by that name._

 _Mr Collins subsequently declared himself for Mary. I do hope she was his original choice, but even if she was not, he behaved impeccably in the circumstances. They are to be married after Christmas and to return to Kent by Twelfth Night. I believe they will be very happy._

 _I cannot relay any details yet of when my own marriage might occur or where, for Mr Bingley and I had not much chance to talk privately . But I have his ring on my finger and I am content. He promised to return today, after Mr Collins had departed. Nonetheless, I could not put my head on the pillow until I had told you of the good news. I will creep down to the vestibule to lay this note on the salver so that it might catch the morning mail._

 _In the greatest felicity,_

 _Your loving sister,_

 _Jane._

Elizabeth was so brimming with excitement for her sister that she had to share her good news. But subsequent enquiries revealed her aunt was closeted with the baron and, of course, Georgie had gone off to Richmond. Elizabeth's thoughts went next to her aunt Gardiner who she had not seen since last Christmas. It was strange to be so close to her now in London and yet so far, too far to walk. Nonetheless, it occurred to Elizabeth that she had money and could use a hackney. It was perhaps a little fast for a lady to venture out on her own, but surely her aunt could have no objection if she took her maid?

Ringing the bell pull for Madeleine, Elizabeth headed to the dressing room to search out a suitable bonnet and pelisse. She had settled on the modish evening primrose ensemble by the time her maid appeared and was instructed to attire herself for an outing. Excited, Madeleine hastened to assist with her mistress's toilette, then rushed off to her own room upstairs. She was back in a trice, pulling on her caraco* and tying her bonnet as they hurried along the hallway.

All seemed well until they were intercepted in the vestibule by Jeffreys.

"Are you going out with Miss Darcy again, ma'am?" asked the butler. "If you would like to wait in the parlour, I will advise you when the carriage arrives."

Elizabeth sighed. Sometimes she just wished she was back in the country. "No, Jeffreys. I'm going to see my aunt Gardiner in Cheapside. I intended to take a hackney. Madeleine is coming with me."

"Well, ma'am, even with Madeleine, I think I would be doing the wrong thing in letting you go without at least a footman. And I would rather call the baroness's carriage."

"Oh, heavens!" cried Lizzy. "What if my aunt should want to use it herself?"

"I doubt that she will, but there is always the baron's carriage should see need it," assured the servant. "Your aunt gave specific instructions to make her carriage available to you."

Thus it was. Elizabeth kicked her heels in the parlour while the carriage was sent for. Happily, she soon found herself wending her way to Cheapside on silk cushions with a coachman up front and a footman behind. Sitting on the forward seat, Madeleine did her best to look dignified but could not help the occasional glance through the glass when something exciting was happening, like the overturned apple-cart. The traffic on Cheapside was horrendous! and more than once Elizabeth decided she could have walked faster, but finally they turned onto Gracechurch Street and pulled up outside her uncle's house.

There was no need to knock. A boy batting an India rubber ball against a brick wall stared as Lizzy stepped from the carriage then gave a cry of recognition. He was soon doing the job of banging on the door for her.

"Mother! Aunt Lizzy is here in a bang-up* carriage!"

"Jemmy!" cried Elizabeth, attempting to give the dirty boy a kiss on his forehead. "You have grown so much!"

"You have grown so much too, Lizzy!" replied Jemmy graciously. "That is a bang-up hat and gown!"

Elizabeth wondered wryly if Jemmy knew any other adjectives. "Why, thank you, Jemmy!"

"And that carriage is prime!" continued Jemmy. "With a crest and everything!"

"It belongs to Aunt Mickleham," confided Lizzy.

Mrs Gardiner came to the door in her apron with her two youngest boys clinging to her skirts. She hugged Lizzy and gave instructions to the servants on where they could find the mews* and the service entrance. Madeline was bid to come in through the front door with her mistress.

"Oh, Lizzy!" said Mrs Gardiner as they entered the parlour. "You look stunning in that outfit! How modish!"

"Thank you, Aunt Gardiner. It is rather pretty. You see my aunt Sempronia's influence. It was she who originally chose the hat, which I at first thought rather garish. But I must admit I was very pleased with the effect once it was sat upon my head."

"You look beautiful, my dear—as you always did—but very refined," complimented her aunt as she rang a handbell for service.

Uncharacteristically, Lizzy blushed, for her aunt was not in the habit of giving fatuous compliments. It must be true!

The housekeeper arrived and, with an order for tea, took charge of both Madeleine and the boys—the former to take tea with her in her room off the kitchens and the latter to be handed over to nurse for scrubbing before being returned to the parlour.

"I'm so glad you found time to visit us, dear," said Mrs Gardiner. "You must be very busy."

"Well," confessed Lizzy, a little embarrassed, "I have spent a lot of time acquiring various things with Aunt Mickleham and went to my first assembly at Almack's on Wednesday. But there also have been lessons in singing and piano and mathematics."

"Mathematics!" exclaimed her aunt.

"Yes!" laughed Lizzy. "It was Aunt Mickleham's suggestion. It turns out to be surprisingly useful. Although, unbeknownst to ourselves, we have been using it to make dresses for years."

"Indeed?" said Mrs Gardiner dubiously. "Perhaps you can show me later. I am always eager to learn new tricks. Don't tell me you made the rest of that ensemble yourself?"

"Oh, heavens, no!" demurred Lizzy. "It was made by a modiste on Bond Street. But I am eager to put my new skills to good use and we may need them soon!"

Lizzy then divulged the happy news of Jane's betrothal to her aunt, and also of Mary's. But she dwelt mostly on Jane, thrilled that her intervention with Mr Bingley had borne fruit. The tea came in. Soon after Mrs Gardiner was summoned to the front door to receive the afternoon mail. She returned with a letter from Longbourn and, guessing its contents, chose to read it aloud.

Sure enough, in a crossed and re-crossed sheet, Mrs Bennet announced her triumph. She was full of plans for the weddings—with the relative merits of dual and separate ceremonies receiving her attention. One began to wonder whether Jane, Mary or their prospective spouses would be consulted at all.

Finally Fanny came to the crux of the matter, requesting yet more silk for the wedding gowns—ivory for Jane and green for Mary.

"Oh dear!" said Elizabeth, embarrassed her mother was once again delving into her uncle's pockets. "I can pay! Indeed I never repaid you for the lovely shot silk you sent!"

"Nonsense!" said her aunt. "Edward is doing well and will be over the moon at their good fortune!"

Mrs Gardiner returned to deciphering the letter, pausing to piece together the words of the tricky crossed part. " _Jane is to have her gown made by Madame Fenelle in Luton—_ using the money you _sent_ recently _,_ Lizzy _—for the new mistress of Netherfield should look worthy of the occasion! Jane, always generous in good fortune, has volunteered to assist Mary in making her gown. All the best, to you and Edward, etc, etc..."_

An idea flitted across Mrs Gardiner's face. "What say you, Elizabeth? Shall we put your new skills to the test by relieving Jane and Mary of their duties? We can invite Mary to London while the dress is fitted and leave Jane and Mr Bingley to court. They seem to have had little time to go about the business properly."

"What a splendid idea, Aunt!" replied Lizzy. "I have my afternoons free! I can come every day!"

That settled, Mrs Gardiner finally extracted from Lizzy an account of her first visit to Almack's and was suitably impressed by the catalog of her niece's partners. The boys came in soon after, much tidier, and with Jemmy more recognisable now his black coating of coal dust had been removed. A merry half hour was had by all before the sun dipping below the building across the way reminded Lizzy she should not linger too long with Lady Mickleham's carriage. The bell was rung and Lizzy's footman sent to retrieve the vehicle.

After hugs and kisses all round, Lizzy set off for Mayfair with a renewed sense of purpose, promising to return on the morrow after her piano lesson to help her aunt select the silks from the warehouse.

She arrived home not much after five to discover a reply from Charlotte, no doubt giving her perspective on the news from Longbourn. But upon breaking the seal, Lizzy received a surprise.

" _Dearest Lizzy,_

 _I am the happiest lady in all England, for I am to marry Mr Goulding and be mistress of Haye Park..."_

* * *

 **Footnotes**

die had been cast—the outcome was known

caraco—an 18th century jacket. See Pinterest board. Servants at this time generally did not were uniforms but high-end recycled clothing which could be bought at markets ie expensively made but out of fashion.

bang-up—excellent

mews—essentially, the common garage, a place where carriages and horses were kept. Because space was at a premium in London, even then, only the extremely rich (like royalty) had personal carriage houses. Mews were generally not attached to residences because of the smell.


	18. Keeping up with the Lucases

**Thanks for your feedback, Windchimed. Is it only an Australian thing, or do people elsewhere use the terms 'aunt' and 'uncle' as honorifics? Ie if you have an older cousin, you call them 'aunt' or 'uncle' until you are tall enough to look them in the eye? We also occasionally used to call very close friends of our parents 'aunt' and 'uncle' (at our parents' insistence). If your family also does this, let me know and let also say what country you reside in and the ethnic origin of your ancestors ie Welsh, immigrated 1842 etc.**

 **Suggestions for title of Chapter 17 were:**

 **'Bang-up News' by _CanonsburgReader_ ,**

 **'Bang Up to the Nines', 'Three Weddings and a Dress' or 'Amiable Relations' by _ilex_ - _ferox_ ,**

 **"Yes, Yes, and Yes" by _justafan2111_ ,**

 **I decided to go with 'Cousins and correspondence', based on your suggestion of 'Amiable Relations', _ilex_ - _ferox_. Thanks to everyone who entered!**

* * *

 **Chapter** **18** **Keeping** **up** **with** **the** **Lucases**

The following weeks flew by for Lizzy. She wrote to Mary, giving her congratulations, and received a short but sanguine reply with the obligatory biblical verse. She exchanged letters twice with Charlotte, which re-established their friendship but offered no clue on just how her friend's romance with Mr Goulding had progressed. All Charlotte would say was that she had spoken to Mr Goulding several times when he was visiting at Longbourn and that he had come to her parents' house one evening to propose. Knowing her friend well, Lizzy was finding it difficult to find one point of correspondence with Mr Goulding, who was a fancier of dogs, horses, and a sure thing at Newmarket.* It was all very curious. During this time, Lizzy's greatest felicity was her correspondence with Jane whose every letter brimmed with happiness.

True to her word, Lizzy visited the Gardiners every day to help make Mary's wedding gown. Her aunt Mickleham had been a little surprised when Lizzy explained her project which might have been more easily achieved by merely sending more money to Longbourn. But once Lizzy brought out the fashion journals and explained how she intended to borrow some of the techniques used by her Bond Street modistes, her aunt realised that Lizzy had not been standing idly by as she was fitted for her new gowns but studying the dressmakers' methods. Lizzy's geometry lessons were also put to good use as she drafted patterns on brown paper and calico with her maid, using not a compass, but chalk and a string. Lady Mickleham, who had grown up without a mother or sisters, listened in fascination to the daily report on the gown's progress. Watching her animated niece, Sempronia realised that rather than expanding her niece's horizons, her removal to London had in some ways restricted them. There was a whole thread of practical existence that burned in Elizabeth that was completely foreign to the academically-inclined Sempronia and her brother Matthew. Lady Mickleham wondered if Elizabeth had got it from her mother or whether growing up in Hertfordshire with a bevy of sisters had done it.

Mrs Gardiner had been a little taken aback when Lizzy had arrived the day after their reunion with her fashion journals. Lizzy proposed to make a very luxurious gown with a generously pleated back that required two dozen ells of silk. It was far more than Mrs Gardiner had envisaged for the project. But when Lizzy pointed out how practical it was, with detachable undersleeves,* Mrs Gardiner agreed it would be a valuable addition to the wardrobe of a parson's wife who must present herself well every Sunday and occasionally to her patroness. Off to Mr Gardiner's warehouse they had gone to select the fabric, deciding upon something that was not showy but exuded understated elegance.

Of course, one person was a little put-out by Elizabeth's new industry—Georgiana. At first Georgie had been hugely disappointed when Elizabeth had deemed herself unavailable for outings till after Christmas. Georgie had been burning to return to Bullock's museum. But curiosity soon got the better of Miss Darcy. Georgie began hinting that she would very much like to witness the construction of Mary's gown. Elizabeth at first ignored these hints. It was not that she was ashamed of her mercantile relations, but she was fairly sure that Mr Darcy would not approve of his sister venturing to visit the hoi polloi* in Cheapside.

The situation came to a crux a week into Elizabeth's daily visits. Lady Mickleham entered the parlour as Georgie and Elizabeth were taking tea together after their piano lesson, prior to parting for the afternoon. Sempronia had just discovered that a friend who suffered from poor health had fallen ill again and been bedfast for a fortnight. Forming the immediate intention to visit the lady, Lady Mickleham wondered if Elizabeth might drop her off on the way to Cheapside—the baron's four-horse carriage took so long to ready! But as the ailing friend's address in Cavendish Square turned out to be a significant detour, Georgie had the happy notion of volunteering the Darcy carriage for Elizabeth's trip—her brother had put it at her disposal for the rest of the day. Despite wishing to oblige her aunt, Lizzy could not immediately agree. She wondered how her aunt would get home. Lady Mickleham assured there would very likely be others visiting, with whom she might cadge* a lift. Finally Lizzy was forced to say what she had hoped to avoid, raising the spectre of Mr Darcy's permission for the trip.

"Oh, he will not mind!" said Georgie blithely. "Brother goes to the City frequently. The coachman well knows the way!"

With this Elizabeth had to be satisfied. She just hoped that Jemmy would not be quite so enveloped in coal dust when they arrived.

The two carriages set off from Mickleham House soon after, parting ways at Bond Street. Lizzy's trip to Cheapside was uneventful, or at least, no more difficult than normal with the usual traffic jams due to this cause or the other. But Lizzy was rather struck by the better progress made by the Darcy carriage. At times the groom and footman got down to coax the horses through the congestion or to shift obstacles from the way. When Lizzy remarked upon the efficiency of the Darcy servants, Georgie replied that her brother had little patience with demarcation.

"Demarcation?" queried Lizzy, slightly puzzled. "Does it not refer to the borders between countries?"

"Does it?" asked Georgie. "I thought it regarded a dispute between guilds or unions as to who should do which job? Brother has a maxim he calls 'all hands on deck'. The new servants have a tendency to hang back if they think a job is beneath them, but the others soon set them to rights. I have even seen Brother get out occasionally—to render assistance in a traffic accident."

"Oh!" said Lizzy, considering this. "Do your servants not get offended and leave?"

"Oh, no," averred Georgie. "Not often. Brother pays them more than other households, so they are generally very good."

Lizzy could only nod in reply. Mr Darcy seemed very much concerned with the efficiency of his household. But she had no complaint when they arrived at Gracechurch Street in record time.

After instructing Madeleine to pull the checkstring* to notify the coachman they had arrived, Lizzy watched Miss Darcy for any signs of disgust as the carriage came to a halt. There were no expanses of green to look out upon in Gracechurch Street, or even a flagway,* but her uncle's house was a handsome brick one, with the front door and shutters gaily painted in a teal blue.

"Oh! How pretty!" exclaimed Georgie.

Mrs Gardiner was soon at the door to greet them, her eyes opening wide at the sight of the sleek black coach. Despite lacking a crest, the elliptical springs* and shiny black paint of the Darcy coach exuded modern affluence.

"Hello, Aunt!" said Lizzy after the footman opened the door and flipped down the step. "I hope you don't mind; I brought a friend—Miss Darcy of Pemberley. She is eager to see how we are progressing on Mary's gown."

Mrs Gardiner gave a start but covered it well with her next words: "Miss Darcy, how good of you to come!"

The two visitors followed Mrs Gardiner into the hall where she stopped at the parlour door to gesture them inside. After Georgie stepped into the room, she was greeted noisily by the three boys who had been waiting for their aunt Lizzy's arrival. They had clearly been bid to stay seated on the camelback sofa*, for the two youngest were verily bouncing on the cushions in their excitement.

"Are you Lady Mickleham's other niece?" blurted the middle-sized one to Miss Darcy.

This piece of impertinence would normally have been depressed swiftly by Mrs Gardiner but she was too busy having a hastily whispered conference with her niece in the hall.

"Lizzy! You should have warned me!" she hissed. "I have only bread, cheese and a salad!", said Mrs Gardener, referring to the nuncheon Lizzy had been in the habit of taking with her aunt Gardiner on her arrival.

"I'm sorry, Aunt," apologised Lizzy. "It was rather impromptu. Would it be possible to send Cook out to procure a ham?"

And here, Lizzy surreptitiously slipped a guinea into her aunt's palm.

"Good thinking!" said Mrs Gardiner with relief.

She then followed her niece into the parlour to halt the argument that had broken out between her two eldest sons on the proper way to address a visiting lady, although she was pleased to see that all the boys had vacated the sofa in favour of Miss Darcy.

"Miss Darcy, Elizabeth and I are in the habit of taking a nuncheon around this time. It is only a humble meal of ham, cheese and bread. Would you care to join us?"

"Oh, yes!" said Georgie brightly. "That sounds wonderful!"

Realising she had been holding her breath, Mrs Gardiner gratefully exhaled. "Lizzy and I typically drink small beer,* but there is tea if you would prefer it," she suggested.

"Oh no!" averred Georgie. "I am very partial to small beer."

Elizabeth undertook to entertain Georgie while Mrs Gardiner hastened to tell Cook of the altered arrangements. Madeleine and Celestine hurried after her. Lizzy found herself chiefly in the role of moderator when the the two eldest boys, Jemmy and Timmy, positively barraged Miss Darcy with questions and observations. These were principally on her equipage and whether her carriage horses could do ten miles an hour.* Throughout this spirited interchange, the youngest Gardiner watched with his thumb in his mouth. Then, perhaps encouraged by Georgie's gentle answers to his brothers' queries, he tugged on her coral silk gown and quietly climbed into her lap to rest his head against her shoulder. Lizzy watched in amusement as Georgie went quite pink with pleasure.

When Mrs Gardiner returned, she was quite amazed. "Oh, Miss Darcy, your gown! Should I take him? Why he has never done that before! He normally clings to me like a limpet!"

Georgie averred that Toby was fine in her lap.

Thereafter, introductions were more properly made, with Mrs Gardiner explaining her connection to Derbyshire. She had grown up in the village of Lambton, not five miles from the Pemberley Estate and even accompanied her parents there once on a public day as a child. Her father, a clockmaker, had moved to London upon her mother's death, but Mrs Gardiner still had relatives in Lambton. She then proceeded on a set of laudatory recollections of Mr Darcy senior, chiefly culled from conversations between her parents on that memorable public day. These charmed Georgie, who had been only six when her father had died suddenly. Her mother had passed at her birth.

In what seemed like no time, the nuncheon was on the table: root beer, cheese and bread, and a salmagundi* with the thinly sliced ham arranged artistically around the edge of the platter.

"Oh, this looks very good!" exclaimed Georgie. "I do so miss good English food when we are in London!—we have a French cook here."

After nuncheon, the boys were sent to Nurse so the real business could get underway. The maids returned to the parlour, the table was pushed to one side, and the iron set on the hob. Mrs Gardiner brought in her dressmaker's manikin, which occupied Mr Gardiner's study when not in use. The gown was still in two halves, with only the full skirt with its small train well advanced. Arming themselves with pins, Lizzy and Mrs Gardiner intended to pattern the bodice and sleeves which had thus far only been made up roughly in calico. It was their intention to amuse Miss Darcy with a running commentary on their efforts while she watched from the sofa. Madeline was sent to the table to be occupied with ironing and basting, to which industry Celestine hurriedly offered herself following a look from her mistress.

But upon the removal of the muslin dustcloth from the manikin, Georgie was immediately in raptures over their efforts and begged to be assigned some duty. She worked industriously on a hem during the afternoon, setting perfect stitches until the tea was brought in.

Thereafter, following yet another hastily whispered conference in the hall between Mrs Gardiner and her niece, Georgie was reassigned to do the cuffs—a high honour—while the maids with their less perfect but swifter stitchery continued with the hem. Throughout their work, the ladies discoursed happily on the topic of fashion, with divergations on Almack's and Bond Street, as the conversation took them.

In what seemed like only an hour, the daylight began to fade. Miss Darcy reluctantly parked her needle, being assured by Mrs Gardiner that she would finish off the thread before the gown was packed away for the morrow.

For the entire journey back to Mickelham House, Georgie dwelt on what fun she had had in Cheapside. Lizzy at first thought Miss Darcy must be jesting, but when Georgie concluded her raptures by begging that she might be allowed to accompany Lizzy again on the morrow, Elizabeth could only conclude her friend was sincere. Still, Lizzy insisted that Georgie first discuss the day's outing with her brother—she might be needed in Richmond or for some other function. Lizzy was very interested to hear what Mr Darcy's verdict on his sister's outing would be.

But on the following day Georgie arrived for their piano lesson, full of enthusiasm for a return trip to Cheapside. She relayed, rather startlingly, that her brother had thought yesterday's trip very laudable and expressed gladness that she had found some useful occupation. Although he had business in the City that day, Darcy had made the coach over to Georgie so that she might accompany Elizabeth again. He had further assured her that she might call the carriage her own for a long as she needed it. He would take an Hackney,* as needed.

So the ladies went off to Cheapside again where Mrs Gardiner was better prepared with a pork pie. Thus it continued. Many hands made light work* and before ten days had passed, Mary arrived for her first fitting.

She came up to London in the usual manner, conveyed to St Albans by Mr Bennet's carriage where she was met by Mr Gardiner's servants with their master's carriage. Mary reached Gracechurch Street soon after Lizzy and Georgie had arrived for the day. She was accompanied by Mrs Bennet's maid Sarah who had come in lieu of Lydia or Kitty. The younger Bennet sisters were apparently occupied with the officers of the militia stationed in Meryton, who had planned a picnic for the day. Lizzy frowned at Mary's disclosure and sincerely hoped that Jane would be present to keep her younger sisters in order.

If Mary was grateful for all the energy that had been expended on her part, it was not immediately apparent. But she found no fault with the beautiful gown. Her enthusiasm for it even extended so far as to state that she thought it suited her station in life. Mary then went on to explain that she had exchanged two letters with Mr Collins since their engagement. Her betrothed had expressed the opinion she should not equip herself too finely, lest she drew the displeasure of Lady Catherine who liked to have the ranks distinguished. Although Mary seemed not to repine her situation, Elizabeth and her aunt exchanged a slightly alarmed look and conferred quietly in the hall at the first opportunity.

"Elizabeth, I do hope that poor Mary is not marrying an ogre! The price to retain Longbourn should not be set too high! How did Jane describe him in her letters?"

"I really cannot say, Aunt. Jane was certainly anxious that our cousin might declare himself to her before Mr Bingley returned. But she said nothing to Mr Collins' disparagement beyond saying he is a little pompous. She thought Mary and our cousin would be very happy."

"Oh dear!" said Mrs Gardiner, a frown creasing her brows. "But of course she would not say anything unkind—you know Jane."

"Alas, I think you have hit the nail on the head, Aunt. Reading between the lines, I believe that Kitty and Lydia may have thought our cousin a little stupid."

Mrs Gardiner sighed. "Pompous and stupid! Well, there is nothing we can do about it now! I just hope your mother has not put her own future comfort ahead of Mary's! Lord knows, Edward and your aunt Philips have continually reassured Fanny that she will never want for a roof over her head."

"Indeed, Aunt, Mother is mindful of their solicitude, but she has come to view Longbourn as her own and thinks the law quite heartless in depriving her of her rightful property."

"Alas, dear—a woman cannot be so secure. Even if you had a brother, Fanny would have been dependent on his goodwill and that of her daughter-in-law once your father passed."

There was no time for further conversation. The rest of the afternoon was spent in fitting the garment, so that Mary might depart by noon the next day. The final adjustments would be made in the days before the wedding, which the Gardiners would attend.

As they all sat together and sewed. Mary related the ongoing arrangements for both weddings, faithfully repeating some of her mother's most gauche utterances in front of Miss Darcy while adding more moralistic observations of her own that frequently missed the point. Elizabeth kept her head down, focussed keenly on her needle, and hoped Georgie wouldn't notice. But there were occasions when she could not help stealing a glance at either her aunt or Georgie for their reactions. Mrs Gardiner, who was very tolerant of her sister-in-law's foibles, frequently hid a smile while Georgie seemed to bear it all with equanimity.

It had been decided that Jane and Bingley would marry first—as Jane was first in birth among the Bennet sisters. This much Elizabeth knew from Jane's letters. What had not been related was that Bingley had come back to London, to obtain a Special License from the bishop.* This somewhat surprised Elizabeth because she knew that Banns were being read for both her sisters by the rector of Longbourn.

The need for the Special Licence had been raised by Mrs Bennet. She was intent on outdoing the Lucases, who were planning a very fine wedding for Charlotte and Mr Goulding, which quite filled her with disgust! More money would be spent on Charlotte in a single day, had declared Mrs Bennet, than had previously been expended on Miss Lucas's entire existence! While this was clearly an exaggeration, Lizzy silently agreed there were some truth to her mother's pronouncement. Nearing thirty, Charlotte had relinquished her claim to new finery in favour of her younger sister Mariah, who was of a similar age to Kitty and Lydia.

Nonetheless, while the requirement for the Special Licence had initially been purely frivolous, once purchased, it seemed suddenly to solve many difficulties. Mr Collins was keen to tie the knot early in the morning, so that he might not be put to the expense of paying for accommodation for himself and his new wife on his journey back to Kent. But Mrs Bennet had declared that none of her daughters would be leaving her house without a proper wedding breakfast—and certainly not the future mistress of Longbourn! Then had come Mr Bennet's happy suggestion that they should combine both wedding breakfasts into one:

"Surely the Lucases could not outdo a double wedding breakfast?" quoth Mary, in all seriousness, "—not unless a willing officer could be quickly found for Mariah! And perhaps Cook might not spend the next week in bed recovering from the exertion of preparing two separate feasts within the space of two days!"

Elizabeth could just imagine her father rolling his eyes as he said this.

Thus by the time Mr Bingley had arrived back from London with the Special License on the morning prior to Mary's departure, Mrs Bennet had already come up with a scheme to set Jane's wedding apart. Jane and Mr Bingley would use the privilege of the Special Licence to marry in the early afternoon.* A joint reception would be held for both couples afterwards—the grandest the local parishes had seen since Mrs Bennet had married the squire twenty-three years ago! Mary and Mr Collins would be married at eight the next morning and set off from the church door.

With four ladies and two maids so industriously stitching, great progress was made on the gown, such that it had reached almost its complete form by the time Georgie and Elizabeth were forced to say their adieus. But the great strides in their work allowed the ladies to form the intention of meeting the following morning on Bond Street. It had always been Elizabeth's intention to bestow a handsome gift on each of her betrothed sisters. Whereas Elizabeth felt confident in choosing a gift that would find Jane's favour, Mary's presence seemed ideal in ensuring that something to her liking was also procured. They were to meet at Master Pastrini's studio.

Upon arriving at the address a little early, Mrs Gardener and Mary's ears were assailed by music of the first order as they climbed the stairs. They were astonished on arriving in the waiting area that the artiste hammering out the masterpiece was none other than Lizzy.

"Lizzy!" exclaimed Mrs Gardiner as they retreated down the stairs afterwards. "When did you learn to play like that? Why, you are good enough to give paid recitals!"

"You would not say so if you had heard Georgiana, Aunt. That was my best piece, and it is all down to Master Pastrini's correction of my fingering."

Lizzy had devised a program on Bond Street that involved a good deal of ogling of wares they had no intention of purchasing before wending their way to Mssrs Hawkin & George, the jewellery shop where Lizzy had purchased her card case. There, her proposal to buy hairpins for her sisters was met with favour. She had already decided upon the ivory comb she intended for Jane's fair hair but she had the assistant lay out others in silver, amber and tortoiseshell for Mary's perusal. Consistent with her determination not to be 'too fine', Mary chose the tortoiseshell.

The shopping trip would not have been complete without stopping at Gunter's. Over tea, Mrs Gardiner surprised Lizzy by inviting Georgie to the wedding.

"I wrote to Lizzy's mother about what a help you have been, Miss Darcy, in constructing Mary's gown, and she straightway extended an invitation. Frances said there was some uncertainty about whether your brother would be able to come into Hertfordshire at that time to stand up with Mr Bingley. My husband and I intend to leave the children behind, Miss Darcy. So there will be room in our carriage should you wish to accompany Lizzy. I can assure you that Frances knows how to entertain and she was ever so grateful for your help with gown."

Georgie was ecstatic and expressed her eagerness to go, subject to her brother's approval. But Lizzy immediately began to worry that her relatives had not thought through the invitation—only one of the rooms in the guest wing of Longbourn was habitable and Mr Collins would be staying there in addition to her aunt and uncle.

They all saw Mary safely installed in the Gardiner carriage for the return trip to St Albans.

After Georgie went off to Richmond in the Darcy carriage, Mrs Gardiner walked back to Mickelham House with Elizabeth where she would have taken an hackney back to Cheapside alone. But Elizabeth suggested they check on the availability of Lady Mickleham's carriage—there was still plenty of work to do in finishing Mary's dress.

They came upon Lady Mickleham in the vestibule and were promptly invited to tea. Thus the two aunts met for the first time and Sempronia discovered she had nothing to be ashamed of in at least some of her brother's relations.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*Newmarket—a horse-racing venue.

*hoi polloi—the masses, the common people, the 'great unwashed'. Speaking of Sir Walter Scott, author of Marmion and numerous later novels, who Byron admired most among living English poets, he ranked the others: 'I should place Rogers next in the living list (I value him more as the last of the best school) —Moore and Campbell both third—Southey and Wordsworth and Coleridge—the rest, οι πολλοί [hoi polloi]'

*undersleeves—long sleeves for winter that slide under the puffed summer sleeves. See Pinterest board.

*cadge—early 17th century (in the dialect sense 'carry about'): back-formation from the noun cadger, which dates from the late 15th century, denoting (in northern English and Scots) an itinerant dealer, whence the verb sense 'hawk, peddle', giving rise to the current verb senses from the early 19th century.

*checkstring—a string in the interior of the carriage that was tied to the coachman's finger, allowing the occupant to instruct the coachman to stop.

*flagway—a footpath made of flat flagstones. Traffic of all sorts was mixed in the streets in inner London at that time, with the surface likely made of wooden cobbles. One might be obliged to jump into a doorway or alley to avoid two passing vehicles in narrower streets.

*elliptical springs—An elliptical spring is a spring that is made from two curved leaf springs that are joined at their ends to form a prolate spheroid (with pointy ends like an American football). They were invented in 1804 by Obadiah Elliott, a carriage builder in London, who was granted a patent for his leaf-spring-suspension vehicle on 11 May 1805.

*camelback sofa—a sofa with a curved back, of Chippendale design.

*nuncheon—dialectal, chiefly England: a light midmorning or mid-afternoon snack consisting typically of bread, cheese, and beer. Until Victorian times, people did not eat three meals a day and their names had not crystallised. Households differed greatly on what meals were served and when. When I first graduated from university, I remember a co-worker making some down-the-nose remark about the fact that I referred to the midday meal as 'dinner'. In fact, breakfast/dinner/tea is used chiefly in the north of Britain while breakfast/lunch/dinner is more common in the south. news/magazine-20243692.

*small beer—any brewed drink such as ginger beer, root beer etc.

*ten miles an hour—fast for a carriage horse viz Mr Thorpe bragging about his 'ten mile an hour tits' in Northanger Abbey.

*salmagundi—a salad of mixed ingredients. The term does not refer to a single recipe, but describes the grand presentation of a large plated salad comprising many disparate ingredients. Similar modern dishes would be a Nicoise salad, chef's salad or antipasto plate. See the Pinterest board for recipes.

*Hackney—a cab, named after the locale where the horses were bred. Eight miles north-east of Charing Cross, Hackney was originally a marshy rural area on a bend in the River Lea, which became a retreat for the wealthy during Georgian times. During the Victorian era, the railways facilitated its urbanisation.

*Many hands make light work—Proverb. More helpers make a task easier. First recorded in English in the early 1300s in a knightly romance known as Sir Bevis of Hampton. It appeared in practically all proverb collections from 1546 on. Dictionary. com

*failed to see the woods for the trees—so involved in the details of something that they do not understand or pay attention to the more important whole. This proverbial saying is first recorded in John Heywood's 1546 glossary 'A dialogue conteinyng the nomber in effect of all the prouerbes in the englishe tongue:

An olde saied sawe, itche and ease, can no man please.

Plentie is no deyntie [dainty]. ye see not your owne ease.

I see, ye can not see the wood for trees.' Phrase Finder

*the area encompassing Longbourn was probably part of the diocese of London at this time. The primary residence of the bishop, William Howley, was in Oxford but St Paul's was the chief administrative centre. Longbourn may later have become part of the diocese of Rochester in 1848 before the diocese of St Albans was created in 1877.

*The Special License allowed couples to be married anywhere at anytime. Under Banns, the ceremony needed to be performed in a church between the hours of eight and twelve. The Special License allowed ceremonies outside these hours and also on unconsecrated ground, for example at the bedside of a dying relative.


	19. Taken for a ride

**Well, I don't think 'averred' is so archaic, perhaps 'less popular' might be more accurate. I promise never to use 'lineaments'. How 1860s!**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 19 were:**

 **"Keeping up with the Lucases" by** ** _FatPatricia515_** **,**

 **"A Stitch in Time" by** ** _Kaohing_** **,**

 **"Dressed to the Nine" by** ** _EmilyWoods_** **,**

 **"Greensleeves" by** ** _Windchimed_** **,**

 **"The Guild of Needlewomen" (referring to Georgie's remark about guilds) by** ** _ilex_** **-** ** _ferox_** **,**

 **"Visits to Cheapside" or "Threading Our Way to Cheapside" by** ** _CanonsburgReader_** **.**

 **All excellent suggestions, but I think "Keeping up with the Lucases" by** ** _FatPatricia515_** **wins by a nose!**

* * *

 **Chapter 19** **Taken** **for** **a** **ride**

Of course, having returned to London to obtain the licence, Bingley had eventually done the right thing. He had originally gone up to London only for the day, leaving his valet at Netherfield. But after being told that his application would in all likelihood be assessed by noon the following day, he had realised he would have to stay overnight after all. Ever one to avoid a confrontation, Bingley had briefly considered cravenly staying at a hotel like Limmer's; possibly not returning to Grosvenor Street until after the knot was tied. But he remembered his conversation with Darcy and decided that if he was going to wear the breeches in his family, he had better start as he meant to go on.

So he had gone round to Grosvenor Street to share the news with his sisters after visiting Doctors' Commons.* Charles supposed he had shared the news with Hurst as well, but as that gentleman's response was his typical 'good-oh!', Charles couldn't say he'd felt terribly supported by his in-law. Unsurprisingly, his sisters were not happy. There had been no more breakage of china, but Caroline had looked decidedly stormy and Louisa very put-out. Rather than endure the silent treatment, Bingley had left his kit bag in his bedchamber and gone off to spend the rest of the afternoon at his club, where he intended to take his dinner.

Thus he was completely unaware that not an hour after he had left Hurst's house in Grosvenor Street, Hurst's carriage drew up outside it and two ladies dressed in the dark clothes and veils of deep mourning climbed into it. The coach set off towards the City.

Instead of spending a convivial evening at his club celebrating his impending nuptials, Bingley had sat alone in a corner. None of his particular friends were in that night, having all decided to attend a prize fight along with several of the other regular members. Boodle's was decidedly subdued. Buffeted once more by his sisters' displeasure. Bingley even began to worry that his application for the Special Licence might be rejected, however improbable that might seem to a reasonable man. Indeed, a sympathetic companion might have consoled him that even if that unlikely event did occur, he could still marry thanks to the Banns.

After several drinks, the need to seek companionship grew paramount. Bingley returned to the street to loiter purposefully around the entrance of White's, hoping that Darcy or one of his friends might pass by and sign him in. But no such happy chance encounter occurred.

When a fifth glance at his pocket watch revealed that it was ten, Bingley gave up and returned to Grosvenor Street to seek repose. He was rather surprised to find the house almost completely enveloped in darkness. On his knock, Hurst's butler opened the door, carrying a candle.

"Wimmer, has everyone gone out?" enquired a surprised Bingley, for the torches that flanked the front steps were generally lit when this was the case.

"No sir," said the butler apologetically. "I'm afraid that I've been instructed not to let you in." And here he hesitantly extended his hand which contained Bingley's kit.

Bingley was dumbstruck. "And who issued this directive?"

"Mrs Hurst, sir."

"At my sister Caroline's instruction?" ventured Bingley.

"Yes, sir," admitted the butler reluctantly.

"And what does Hurst have to say of this?"

"I'm afraid he is asleep in the saloon, sir. I dare not wake him."

Bingley knew Hurst had likely drunk too much at dinner and fallen asleep on the sofa in his usual manner. He was extremely grumpy if woken during this post-prandial nap.

"I'm very sorry, sir," added the butler, quite sincerely.

Bingley sighed. "It doesn't matter," he reassured the servant. "I understand."

Stepping back down to the street, Bingley hesitated for a moment, thinking it might have to be Limmer's after all. But coming on top of his rather depressing afternoon, his rejection weighed very heavily on his spirits. He felt he really could not go on without support. Sighing, he walked down Grosvenor Street to the square and stared across that huge expanse to the Darcy townhouse on the other side. Like a beacon, the house blazed with light.

Shouldering his kitbag, Bingley decided to give Darcy one last try before resigning himself to Limmer's. He certainly thought he could do with his friend's endorsement. Bingley was not in the habit of calling upon Darcy without the presence of his sisters, since Miss Darcy also resided there. He hoped his friend would forgive him this slight departure from good protocol.

It was not until he had given the knocker two smart raps that it occurred to Bingley that he should have perhaps written to his friend, to tell him the outcome of his race to Hertfordshire, especially after the friendly advice Darcy had given him at White's. He had been rather preoccupied with Jane. But, before Bingley could contemplate this solecism too deeply, the door was opened.

"Ah, very good, sir!" said Darcy's aged head footman, Farley. "The master was hoping you might drop by."

Considerably heartened by this response, Bingley stepped inside, relinquished his bag and outer gear to the footman and was shown into Darcy's study where he found his friend reading poetry by the blazing fire.

"Bingley!" said Darcy, getting up to shake his friend's hand. "Congratulations!"

Bingley broke into a cheery smile. "You give me too much credit," he smiled. "She might have said 'no'."

"Ah! But you forget that my sister has become good friends with Miss Elizabeth!" said Darcy, in a jovial way that Bingley found strangely out of character. Darcy was rarely effusive.

"I apologise, by the way," replied Bingley, "for visiting you here. I did linger for a while outside your club."

A slight frown creased Darcy's brows. "Do not worry. Georgie is in Richmond with our aunt. Would you care for a drink?"

Upon Bingley's assent, Darcy poured two glasses of brandy from a decanter, then motioned his friend to the vacant seat beside the fire, opposite his own. After seating himself very deliberately and considering for a moment, Darcy got to the point.

"I was hoping you would visit me here. In fact I came home from my club in anticipation of you."

"How is this?" asked Bingley. "Does news travel so fast? I only decided to come to London this morning! Or did someone you know see me in St James Street this afternoon? You could have found me at my club."

"Well, I did not think it would be possible to talk privately there," remarked Darcy. He took a contemplative sip of brandy. "The fact is, Bingley, I was approached this afternoon by a member of Doctors' Commons..."

"Good Lord!" interjected Bingley, sitting up his chair. "Did they ask for your opinion on the match? You are not telling me they are considering rejecting my application for the Special Licence?"

"No, Bingley, no. But they were rather perturbed by a visit from your sisters this afternoon, who requested exactly that."

"What!" shrieked Bingley, jumping to his feet. "Well of all the underhanded!..." he spluttered, so tongue-tied that he was unable to go on. Instead he stood there fuming.

"Apparently," related Darcy, filling the gap while his friend struggled with his temper, "your sisters turned up in mourning clothes. Caroline created a scene worthy of Drury Lane, saying the match was contrary to your father's wishes. She collapsed in the vestibule near the clerks' desk."

"This is too much!" said Bingley between his teeth, heading for the door. "I don't care if I have to sneak into Hurst's house via the area steps, I intend to have words with Caroline tonight. Aye! And Louisa too!"

Darcy jumped up and stayed his friend from opening the door. "Now, wait just a minute, Bingley. It is best not to go over there when you are angry. Better to sit down and consider your response. Clearly words will not suffice with your sisters."

Bingley sighed and returned to lean on the mantelpiece. He was too agitated to sit down. "So this fellow who approached you; he wanted to let me know what had occurred?"

"Not exactly, Bingley. He had heard that I was about to become betrothed to your sister and thought the information might be of interest to me."

"Where on earth did he hear such a piece of nonsense?" exclaimed Bingley.

Darcy smiled at his friend and shrugged.

"Don't tell me she has been putting that about too!" groaned Bingley.

"I cannot say for certain," said Darcy. "People may have merely assumed it based on her proprietary behaviour that night at Almack's. It is always difficult to know from whence gossip arises. I do not heed it. Plenty such rumours about me have gone before this one. The point is, Bingley, you cannot let your sister go on like this. Not only is she interfering in your life in a way she has no right to, she is likely damaging her own chances of a good match. It is a small world and nobody wishes to marry a termagant."

Bingley sighed and threw himself back down into the chair. "What should I do?"

"Are you in control of your sister's pin money?"

"Theoretically, yes. Although I would have to enlist the co-operation of the trust to restrict it."

"Then I suggest you do so, Bingley—before matters get further out of hand."

"Caroline will be livid," shuddered Bingley. "Who knows what extremes she will go to in response."

"Nonetheless, Bingley, you have tried talking to her before. Actions speak louder than words. Discuss it with your uncle, but I think you should also raise the possibility that continued bad behaviour will result in her return to Yorkshire for a period. I think it would also be wise to take Louisa aside and advise her she is doing her sister no favours in supporting such folly."

"Yes," sighed Bingley. "I will think it over tonight, but those all sound like reasonable steps."

They sat near to each other for a while in miserable silence: Bingley unhappy that his friend had become further embroiled in his own problems and Darcy uneasy that he had interfered too far in giving such specific advice. But as they stared into the hearth, the cheery flames warmed them and they relaxed into a more companionable mode.

"So is your wedding day fixed? I hear something of the nature of a double wedding is being discussed?" ventured Darcy.

"As fixed as it can be with Mrs Bennet—her plans seem to constantly evolve. She is in competition with Lady Lucas, whose daughter Charlotte is also to be married, to Mr Goulding of Haye Park."

"I fancy I remember him from the ball," remarked Darcy. "And do you intend then to reside at Netherfield with Jane?"

"Certainly," said Bingley, "at least until I decide whether to go ahead with the purchase of Netherfield. Jane says it will be so comfortable to live near her mother while she is getting used to running a household—she can nip over for a bit of advice."

Darcy thought that Mrs Bennet might be doing a bit of 'nipping over' in the other direction, but he decided he had interfered enough in Bingley's affairs for the moment.

They were both rather surprised when the clock in the hallway struck eleven.

"Well," said Bingley, regretfully. "I suppose I had better get off to Limmer's before the porter goes to sleep."

"Limmer's?" cried Darcy. "Why on earth are you staying there?"

Sheepishly, Bingley admitted he had been locked out, considerably shocking Darcy.

"Stay here, Bingley. There is always a room made up for my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. I can easily have a fire made up in it before we retire."

It was no sooner said than done—Farley, forewarned by Bingley's kitbag, had already piled the wood up in the hearth of Colonel Fitzwilliam's room. Not half an hour later Bingley found himself slipping between warmed sheets and fell gratefully asleep, thinking of Jane.

* * *

In London, Elizabeth spent a pleasant Christmas day at Mickelham House. She received a very beautiful new pelisse from her aunt, a delicate emerald necklace from the baron and a matching ring from Freddy. Lizzy felt truly honoured to have been shown such consideration by her new-found relatives, but she had to admit that in comparison to Longbourn, Christmas seemed remarkably subdued. It was not quite the same without Kitty and Lydia arguing over something. Last year, there had been a dispute over who had got the sixpence in the pudding, with Kitty claiming that Lydia must have given herself the winning slice while doing the honours of serving. Likewise, a succession of similar Christmas gifts from their parents had seemed always to result in a dispute—with one sister claiming they preferred the colour the other had got, or some such nonsense. Arguments between the two youngest Bennets had almost become a tradition.

Boxing Day with the Gardiners in Cheapside was a little more raucous than Mickleham House, but in a pleasant way. The boys were very pleased with the presents from their aunt Elizabeth: a diablo for Timmy, a ball and cup for Jemmy, and a Noah's ark for little Toby.

The Gardiners' removal to Hertfordshire for the wedding did not go entirely to plan. The two eldest boys were most loudly disappointed that they were to be left behind in London during such a grand event. Mrs Gardiner's promises to return with plum pudding for them were for nought. They were larks to be had, running and jumping through the gardens of Longbourn to be performed, not to mention whole plates of pastries to be consumed. Over several days, their begging eventually wore Mrs Gardiner down and she began to think she was the most monstrous mother in creation to be leaving her babies home with Nurse.

To accommodate the larger party, Lizzy suggested that she could travel down in a post-chaise with the eldest boys while the Gardiners travelled with little Toby and Miss Darcy. Georgie suggested that she and Elizabeth could instead take the Darcy carriage to allow the Gardiners to travel together, leaving her brother to make his way to Hertfordshire on horseback in the frigid weather. Finally, not a week before their departure, Lady Mickleham added her mite when she heard Georgie and Lizzy discussing the issue.

"Lizzy, the Dowager Lady Cunningham is selling her lozenge coach*—she is too frail to go out any more. So there will be a vacant spot in the mews. Why do you not purchase a carriage for yourself?"

"Oh, Aunt! The expense!" exclaimed Lizzy.

Lady Mickleham laughed. "Clearly you are having difficulty adjusting to being an heiress! I am sure your trustees would agree that an heiress should have her own carriage."

"Yes!" added Freddy, who had just entered the room. "And you can loan it to me occasionally too, Cousin Elizabeth!" he joked.

"Indeed, dear," added Lady Mickleham, ignoring her son, "aside from the initial outlay and the quarterly rent for the mews, the cost would be minimal. You would be doing your uncle a favour in exercising his horses—as it is, the grooms have to ride them every day for exercise."

Lizzy was still hesitant that her uncle might not agree to the scheme, but when an afternoon tea together brushed even that qualm away, she conceded.

Freddy immediately volunteered to take Elizabeth to the coach maker. After some fooling about in the yard, suggesting some raffish curricles, he helped her choose a coach very much in the same style as the Darcy carriage, with a thin body suitable for navigating the narrow streets of London, but a boot and elliptical springs suitable for longer journeys. Taking the coach out on spec,* Lizzy could not help but break into a wide smile when the coachman coaxed the horses into a brisk trot in Hyde Park.

"It meets your requirements?" smiled Freddy in return.

"Definitely," said Lizzy, "though I shall avoid purchasing this black one, which is very much like the Darcys'. I do not wish to be accused of copying! The elliptical springs are wonderful are they not?"

"A very smooth ride," agreed Freddy.

Back at the coachmaker's, a very sophisticated two-tone dove grey scheme was decided upon, with darker paint for the panels and a lighter shade for the top. Freddy took care of the sordid business of exchanging the money for such a grand purchase.

Two days later, the carriage was delivered. Freddy was present when the news came round from the mews. Elizabeth immediately invited her aunt to take a tool in the park with her to show off the new vehicle. They all went off laughing together.

While the interior of the carriage was comfortable, with every modern convenience: lamps, footrests, and descending windows, it could not match the opulence of the interior of her aunt's carriage. Nonetheless, when the coachman increased the speed as they drove beside Rotten Row,* one could not help but appreciate the suspension of the lighter, faster coach.

"Well!" laughed Lady Mickleham. "You certainly have come up in the world, Lizzy!"

"And have excellent taste in carriages," joked Freddy. "If I do say so myself!"

Two days later, two carriages set off from Mickelham House in Piccadilly for Hertfordshire, the first conveying the Gardiners and the second very smart grey coach—Lizzy and Miss Darcy. Lady Mickelham had decided not to abandon the baron for a second time so soon, sending handsome presents for the two couples instead. Freddy stood on the flagway to wave goodbye, clearly wishing he had been able to accept his cousins' invitation to attend, especially if that meant more time in the particular company of Miss Darcy.

The journey was comfortable and uneventful, with the single stop in St Albans mainly for the comfort of the children whose bladders were unequal to the twenty–mile distance. They took tea at St Albans, mainly to give Mrs Gardiner time to marshall the boys at the convenience, but also to give custom to the inn, whose ostlers had to be content with merely watering and baiting the horses.

Eventually they were ready to set off on the final leg. Having heard so much about Longbourn and Jane, Georgie was excited in anticipation.

When the Gardiner coach reached the village of Longbourn and turned off into the lane, the local boys who had been playing cricket there swiftly jumped out of the way. Lizzy waved when she recognised the blacksmith's boy, which resulted in the whole troupe following her carriage for fifty yards down the lane, yelling greetings and waving their bats.

Then the gates of the manor house came in sight and Lizzy was overcome by a sense of content and eagerness to see her family again. Gliding through the gates in her smart new coach, she could not help feeling a little like Cinderella.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

Doctors' Commons—the ecclesiastical courts located near St Pauls.

Lozenge coach—a coach where the arms of the family are emblazoned in a diamond, indicating she is a widow, hence 'dowager'. Her eldest son's wife is 'Lady Cunningham'.

on spec—on speculation. In the hope that something will occur. In this case, a test drive. The coachmaker is hoping a sale will occur.

Rotten Row—corruption of 'Route du roi'. The Ton socialised while exercising their horses on Rotten Row. Lizzy would have been on the adjacent South Carriage Drive, which was used by society people in carriages for the same purpose.


	20. Robbing Peter to pay Paul

**Thanks for that excellent explanation of Georgian marriage law, _ilex_ - _ferox_. Would you care to do the world a favour and fix up the Wikipedia page?**

 **My crack about 'lineaments' was based on its ngram graph. It did seem to peak in the 1860s. I'd only previously encountered it in Bronte and Wilkie Collins, so thanks for the racy William Blake quote!**

 **I usually imagine Darcy as a bit of a slow burn. He's got feelings but he knows his duty and keeps everything buttoned up.**

 **A guest reviewer has raised a point on protocol in chapter 6. Should Elizabeth introduce the Bingley sisters in their own house?**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 19 were:**

 **"Homecomings" by _Astarte2016_ ,**

 **"Travels with Charley" by _EmilyWoods_ ,**

 **"Sweet Caroline" by _suddenlysingle_ ,**

 **"Being Taken for a Ride" by _nanciellen_ ,**

 **"Riding in Style" by _FatPatricia515_ ,**

 **'Orchestrated Manoeuvres in the Dark', and show my age as well as my dreadful puns, but perhaps 'Licence to Behave Badly' or 'A Matter of Licence' by _ilex_ - _ferox_**

 **There were several good ones there by _ilex_ - _ferox_ and I loved the irony of "Sweet Caroline" by _suddenlysingle_ , which Neil Diamond song is now running through my head. However, the double entendre of _nanciellen's_ suggestion took my fancy. "Taken for a Ride" it is!**

* * *

 **Chapter 20 Robbing Peter to pay Paul**

Mrs Bennet was waiting for the visitors under the front portico, having possibly been alerted by the dust in the lane. She eyed Lizzy's carriage appreciatively as it drew to a stop and the baron's servants swarmed around it—the groom going to the leaders' heads and the footman flipping down the step.

Longbourn's servants also ran out to assist. As Lizzy emerged, she almost gaped to see two local lads, grown very tall, hovering nearby in garments she recognised as having once belonged to her father, suitably altered for their lanky frames. Clearly her mother had taken on new servants for the wedding.

Elizabeth flew to give her mother a hug, then introduced Georgie who had descended behind her.

"Miss Darcy, how very nice to meet you," exclaimed Mrs Bennet. "How tall you are! Almost as tall as your brother!" And then, with eyes shining bright as a cornered mouse, "He did not accompany you?"

"He had some pressing business in the City," replied Georgie, who had been a little annoyed with her brother for excusing himself from escorting them. She was still hoping a romance might blossom between her recalcitrant brother and her new-found friend, despite her difficulties in getting them in the same room. "But he has assured me he will arrive in time for the ceremony."

The truth was that Darcy had been playing cat and mouse* with Caroline.

Having discovered that Mr Darcy had agreed to be her brother's best man, Caroline had undergone a wonderful change of heart, promising to support her brother as hostess at Netherfield and help welcome the new bride to the family. Initially, Bingley had incorrectly ascribed this new leaf* to his disciplinary actions. This happy notion lasted for a full hour after Caroline's advent at Netherfield with the Hursts in tow until they sat down together with her brother for tea. But upon ordering the best guest room made up once more for Mr Darcy as Mrs Nicholls poured a cup for the master, Caroline discovered to her chagrin that she had journeyed to Hertfordshire for nothing.

"He is not staying here," interpolated Bingley, surveying the scones and selecting a particularly puffy one. "These look excellent, Mrs Nicholls!"

The housekeeper gave a pleased bob in acknowledgment of the compliment. Tight-lipped, Caroline waved away Mrs Nicholls to take charge of the teapot herself.

"Whatever can you mean, brother?" enquired Caroline as the door closed behind the housekeeper. "You cannot have let poor Mr Darcy put up at the Red Lion?" she hissed, whilst realising with horror that he might even be staying at Longbourn with his sister. Surely not!

"No," said Bingley calmly, as he smeared a generous spoonful of jam on his scone and deposited a fat dollop of fresh cream on top. "He accepted an invitation to stay at Lucas Lodge so that he might also attend the wedding of Sir William's daughter the following week."

"Lucas Lodge!" echoed Caroline. This was not news that had come to her ears. "But Netherfield is so much larger, so much better appointed!"

A crease knit Bingley's brows. "Darcy wished to give me some privacy during the honeymoon period," explained Bingley, now definitely suspicious of his sister's motives for attending his wedding. "And I hope you will have as much solicitude," Charles continued. "We have all been invited to Miss Lucas's wedding next week. If you choose to attend, I would appreciate if you went back to London soon after, so that Jane might establish herself properly as mistress of the household."

Caroline sniffed. "Very well," she said airily, thinking there would be no point in remaining in Hertfordshire anyway, once Darcy had returned to London. "Provided you repay me what is owing for this quarter. My dressmaker is dunning me.*"

"Oh no, Caroline," replied Bingley calmly. "We are not bartering your good behaviour. You lost your pin money this quarter as a punishment. It is lost, not withheld. And if there are any further incidents of astoundingly bad form, more will go the same way."

Caroline stared at her brother in disbelief. "But how am I to pay my modiste?"

"As you are such good friends with Louisa, she might see her way clear to frank you," said Bingley, taking a sip of tea.

* * *

Back at Longbourn, the newly arrived guests were being ushered to their accommodation before taking their own tea.

"I have put you and Miss Darcy in this first room," said Mrs Bennet as they walked down the hall of the guest wing. "So you can be nearer to Jane."

Georgie smiled becomingly at Elizabeth as she peeped into the bedchamber normally occupied by the Gardiners. Lizzy was gratified to see that the heavy Jacobean bed had been furbished up with completely new hangings, the whole room transformed.

"Do you use the room first, Georgie," encouraged Elizabeth, "while I help my aunt with Toby."

Lizzy followed her mother and her aunt Gardiner down the corridor of the guest wing to the next room. As Mrs Bennet opened the door, the smell of beeswax pervaded the air.

"Well, you have been busy, Frances!" exclaimed Mrs Gardiner, surveying a roomful of revived ancient furniture complete with hangings and curtains that had formerly graced the first room.

"But, Mama!" hissed Lizzy, observing the bed had been placed in a spot where a large puddle generally formed after a downpour—she had splashed in it as a child. "Does this room not leak? What if it should come on to rain?"

"No, Lizzy," assured her mother. "Tis all fixed! I hired a tradesman from Meryton to begin repairing the roof with the money you sent and your father felt sufficiently beforehand with the world to get him to finish the job."

"Well," laughed Mrs Gardiner, "with two daughters well married, I suppose Matthew has every right to feel flush! Thank you for furbishing it up so nicely, Frances. We would have been happy to stay at the inn, knowing that you would need the guest room for Mr Collins. Where have you put him?"

"Oh, down the hall, sister! And the room between done up as a nursery for the three boys."

And here Fanny stepped down the hall and threw open the next door to reveal the truckle bed that normally resided under the Jacobean bed in the first room. It was accompanied by a smaller bed for Toby. There was also every amusement a child could want if confined to the house by rain. Lizzy recognised a rocking horse and several other favourites that had been relegated to the attics years ago.

Little Toby straight away wanted to sit on the rocking horse, thus pre-empting his elder brothers who had run away into the gardens as soon as their parents' coach had come to a halt outside. Lizzy saw the curtains in this room looked new but had been tastefully chosen by her mother to match an old family quilt that had been cut up to cover both beds.

"Mother," whispered Lizzy anxiously, as they watched Mrs Gardiner dandling Toby on the horse while she pushed it gently with her foot. "You have done an excellent job in readying the rooms, but the sum I forwarded cannot have been sufficient to cover the new curtains and hangings. Indeed, you said it only paid for part of the roof. Are any monies outstanding to other tradesmen?"

"Well, there is a little owing to the mercer* in Meryton, but all the village women who did the sewing were paid in grain from the tithe barn. As for Mrs Coombes, she will not demand immediate payment. She will be hoping that Jane redecorates Netherfield!"

Seeking to help her mother genteelly accommodate Georgie, Lizzy had thought herself clever in requesting extra funds from the trustees to furnish her room at Longbourn, but she could see now it had only spurred further expenditures. Elizabeth could not be surprised at her mother's begging and borrowing—habits of a lifetime of hankering for a level of elegance that was continually out of her reach. Her mother was an ambitious but ignorant woman who seemed not to understand that wheat from the tithe barn was just as surely money as a golden guinea. Instead, Mrs Bennet seemed to think she could telescope her debt into tomorrow—robbing Peter to pay Paul.*

Lizzy could not like her mother's owing money but she acknowledged it had all been done for the best of reasons and resolved to redress the situation as soon as possible. She could only hope that her mother's spending would taper off now the future of three of the Bennet daughters was secure. There was always the worrying possibility that her mother had increased her spending to match her perceived new place in the world.

When the crunch of carriage wheels in the drive drew their attention, a peek out the window revealed a fine curricle had drawn up, tooled by Mr Bingley. Jane sat up beside him, clearly recognisable by her generous figure despite her face being hidden by a parasol and poke bonnet.

"Oh, here is Mr Bingley back with Jane!" cried Mrs Bennet. "Does not his new curricle look smart? Just the vehicle for newlyweds!"

Lizzy thought it looked an highly impractical vehicle for a married couple, more the sort of thing a young man might use to impress a lady, and Mr Bingley had snared Jane without the need of it! When Georgie emerged from the bedchamber, she agreed it looked very modish. Having successfully peed in the pot, Toby was scooped up and they all hurried down to greet the new arrivals.

Lizzy got her first glimpse of Mr Collins before lunch. Although her cousin was already in residence when she had arrived, he had walked out with Mary and the younger girls to Meryton—the ladies had wished to make some final purchases for the weddings at the Meryton haberdashery. Mrs Bennet had been awaiting their return before putting lunch on the table. Lizzy's worst suspicions were soon confirmed when the introductions were finally made. Mr Collins' appearance was not becoming. At thirty, he was already beginning to run to fat and his hair was greasy. Lizzy conceded both of these deficiencies might be judiciously corrected by a wife and she squinted hard to find a handsomer man underneath. She could only conclude that Mary had her work cut out for her.

Worse still, as soon as Mr Collins was introduced to Miss Darcy, Lizzy knew that no amount of better grooming would ever turn her cousin into a worthy man. He was silly and pompous. It turned out that the Darcys were relatives of Mr Collins' patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. What a small world! Throughout tea, Mr Collins continually flattered Georgie, praised her aunt, and enquired about her brother, of whom he had heard much about from Lady Catherine. It was almost as if Miss Darcy were the only person at the table besides himself. Poor Mary, who was sitting beside him, seemed completely forgotten.

Some of Mr Collins' efforts to inveigle himself with Miss Darcy were truly excruciating and Lizzy's single-handed attempts to deflect his attentions were like water off a duck's back. Jane, who might normally be enlisted as an ally in such adversity, was holding hands with Mr Bingley under the table and seemed to be rendered completely stupid by his touch; Mrs Garner was wholly preoccupied by the table manners of her children. To make matters worse, Lizzy noticed her father sitting back at the head of the table, taking it all in. Mr Bennet seemed vastly amused by his cousin's stupidity and his twinkling eyes suggested he was even enjoying Lizzy's fruitless attempts to check her cousin's manners. He only exerted himself once to stop Lydia from relating a rather improper story of how the older officers had pranked a young ensign named Denny by hiding his uniform. Having been pleasantly surprised by her mother's relatively restrained behaviour, Lizzy was steeped in mortification in front of Miss Darcy by her relatives.

Finally, the plates were cleared by the servants. Lizzy almost wiped her brow with relief when Mr Bingley suggested they all walk out to the garden together. Here at last was something to be proud of: Longbourn's gardens were extensive and merged gracefully with the surrounding countryside, which boasted numerous walks. With more room to manoeuvre, Lizzy was sure she could divest Georgie of Mr Collins' odious attentions.

Fortunately her mother proved her unwitting friend. When Mr Collins attempted to join the walking party, he and Mary were called back by Mrs Bennet. She recalled that Longbourn's rector wished to discuss the ceremony with them and offered to accompany them to the rectory so that she could check how many vases were in the church.

It was with a skip and a jump that Lizzy descended the back steps and breathed in the fresh air of the countryside in anticipation of a ramble. But she got no farther than the Wilderness—Georgie was not wearing appropriate shoes. Instead, they sat on a stone bench together as Jane and Bingley headed off along the cow track near the brook, with Kitty and Lizzy as poor chaperones. They were too intent on haring after each other through the long grass as they played an improvised game of tip, completely heedless of the hems of their gowns. Lizzy watched as Jane and Bingley mooned at each other, their hands clasped, their thighs frequently brushing as they walked along.

"Your sister seems very much in love with Mr Bingley."

Gripped in her reverie, Lizzy almost started.

"Oh, yes! She is quite silly about him! But I assure you she is generally the most sensible of my sisters and very conversible. I do hope she eventually recovers!"

Georgie laughed. "At one stage my brother hoped that Mr Bingley and I might form a connection."

This declaration somewhat surprised Lizzy. She had thought the haughty Mr Darcy would be looking much higher than a merchant's son for his sister. In fact, even their friendship had considerably puzzled her.

"You could not like him?" she asked Georgie.

"He is very sweet and I think him quite handsome," replied Georgie before looking down at her interlaced hands. "Unfortunately I was rather preoccupied by someone else at the time."

Lizzy recalled Georgie's confidence about George Wickham and was suddenly struck with foreboding. Lieutenant Wickham had likely been invited to the wedding, along with the other officers. Another shoal!* Why had she not made the connection before?

Georgie paused before lifting her chin. "But I am glad things worked out for your sister because I do not think Mr Bingley would have been right for me after all. I think... he would make a nice little brother."

Lizzy burst out laughing. "But he must be ten years older than you!" she blurted, before regretting such a gauche outburst.

"Yes...," mused Georgie. "I'm not sure what it is, but he just _seems_ younger." There was a pause while she pondered her next words. "My brother likes him because he has a good heart. I think Fitzwilliam felt I would be safe with him."

Mr Darcy's solicitude for his sister somewhat surprised Lizzy. His behaviour at the assembly had made her think that he intended to marry into the Ton and sought a similar match for his sister. "You are lucky to have a brother who values your welfare so highly."

"Yes," agreed Georgie solemnly, before adding: "I believe Mr Bingley to be a good man. I am sure your sister will be very happy."

Georgie paused, seemingly engrossed by a tuft of grass she was brushing with her foot. "What about you?" she added, looking up impishly. "Has anyone caught your eye?"

"Oh, no!" laughed Lizzy. "It is not my intention to marry. I intend to be a good aunt to Jane's children!"

This assertion somewhat shocked Georgie. "You are joking! Do you not like Freddy?"

"Freddy? Well, of course I do, but more in the way of a little brother!" Lizzy teased, throwing Georgie's words back at her.

"Oh!" said Georgie, who blushed and swiftly changed the subject.

The rest of the day was a blur for Lizzy. As soon as her mother returned from the church with the vases, Georgie and Lizzy were enlisted to fill them. What remained of the afternoon was spent in cutting and arranging flowers for the church. The fresh air proved too much for Georgie. She had jokingly commented that she felt almost like Queen Elizabeth, climbing into such a grand bed. But when Lizzy explained the lightness and simplicity of the carving on the wooden balusters was more indicative of the Jacobean period, she found she was talking to thin air—Georgie had fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, much as she had done on the previous occasion when they had shared a bed. Lizzy was left to worry how she might shield her friend from any distress on the morrow caused by Mr Wickham's presence.

* * *

The morning of Jane's wedding was organised chaos. Mrs Bennet's plans were manifold but existed only in her head. All and sundry were enlisted as her agents, with village children constantly arriving on foot with bunches of flowers and vegetables while tradesmen's carts from far and wide delivered pies and other viands. It was too much for Mr Bennet. After retrieving a ladder from the stables to help fix bunches of ribbons over the portico, he retreated to his study and locked the door.

Madame Fenelle had herself travelled from Luton with two assistants to help Jane into her gown. Lizzy was embarrassed to be recognised and complimented on her modish Bond Street gown, which was exactly the reaction the dressmaker had wished for. She hoped she would be seeing more of the heiress and her custom soon.

Jane's dress was a heavenly blue velvet, admirably fitted to her ample form. The collar, cuffs and hems were trimmed with quantities of lace, such as befitted a lady of means.

"Oh, it is beautiful!" cried Georgie. "Such a lovely blue! I declare I am quite envious!"

But it turned out that Georgie was not eager to be a bride. Instead, she wished to have the stuffs turned into a splendid riding habit.

Finally the church bells rang to call all to the ceremony. Jane was transported the short distance very slowly in Elizabeth's new carriage, with Lizzy and Georgie accompanying her while the rest of the family proceeded on foot. Ahead, the villagers crowded round the entrance to the church in the crisp air. No snow had fallen yet that season, so they had come from as far as Meryton to wish the happy couple well and partake of whatever largesse the squire might provide for them afterwards at the inn.

A slightly harassed looking Mr Darcy stepped out through them, head and shoulders among the throng. He was looking remarkably handsome in a royal blue tail coat—not a colour Lizzy had ever before seen him wear. He seemed to prefer funereal blacks and greys. He conferred briefly with Mr Bennet, shot a taut smile at his sister and then headed back inside without so much as a glance at Lizzy. He was met at the church door by Sir William Lucas, always keen to be at the nub of things, and they proceeded inside.

By choosing similar outfits in pale blue, Lizzy and Georgie had somehow constituted themselves Jane's attendants—a detail that had slipped Mrs Bennet's mind, such was her obsession with the food and decoration. Seeing themselves cut off from attention, Kitty and Lydia had loudly complained and been told by their mother they could perform the same office for Mary on the morrow. To this, Kitty had bemoaned that she did not look well in green.

Once inside the church, Lizzy gave a quick glance in the direction of the militia officers who were seated as a group on the groom's side of the church.* But she could not spot Lieutenant Wickham and was glad when they passed the group without incident.

All her troubles were forgotten when she saw Mr Bingley, his face positively radiant. He was wearing a tail coat in the same blue velvet as Jane's dress—an affectation which Lizzy immediately attributed to her mother. He bore it remarkably well, though it evoked to Lizzy a comparison to an overgrown small boy in nankeens. She supposed it was his golden curls, admirably puffed into a windswept style that allowed Mr Bingley to look handsome rather than silly.

The vows were exchanged, the ring slid onto Jane's smooth white hand and Mr Bingley made Jane blush by planting a peck on her cheek in front of the congregation.

It was with some astonishment that Lizzy realised she had been holding her breath. Months of worrying for her sister had come to an end. Now she could be easy. Jane was Mrs Bingley, mistress of Netherfield.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

cat and mouse—a children's game of tag where one child, the 'mouse', tries to evade another, the 'cat', aided by a ring of children holding their linked arms up as arches to let the mouse through or lowering them to block the cat.

New leaf—to turn over a new leaf, to mend your ways for the better. In the 1500s, people called pages in books 'leaves'. When they turned over a new leaf, they were really turning to a blank page in their book to start writing something new.

Dunning—demanding payment. A dun is a debt collector. Early 17th century (as a noun): from obsolete Dunkirk privateer, from the French port of Dunkirk ie a pirate.

mercer—A merchant dealing in fabrics and textiles, especially silks and other fine cloths. 1600,

... Acolastus-Polypragmon-Asotus, is here present (by the help of his mercer, tailor, milliner, sempster, and so forth) at his designed hour. Ben Jonson, Cynthia's Revels via Wiktionary.

shoal—an underwater obstruction causing a local area of shallow water, metaphorically a hazard.

robbing Peter to pay Paul—an alliterative medieval phrase that indicates the uselessness of shifting debt from one place to another without a net gain. Peter and Paul were both apostles of Christ, both martyred in Rome and shared the Feast Day on 29th June. The essence of the meaning of 'rob Peter to pay Paul' is the pointlessness of taking from one only to give to another who is similar. Phrase finder.

groom's side of the church—in Christian ceremonies, the bride's family sits on the left, the groom's on the right. Likewise, the bride stands at the left at the altar while the groom stands to her right. In a Jewish ceremony, it's the opposite; the bride and her family are on the right, the groom and his are on the left.

nankeens—a yellowish cotton cloth. mid 18th century: from the name of the city of Nanking (see Nanjing), where it was first made. here referring to breeches of that material often used to dress small boys


	21. The wedding punch

**Can you please keep comments polite. Both of your cavils have been addressed before. People who are willing to wear their reviews log in. Just saying.**

 **Thanks for sharing your national equivalents of idioms, _QOP_. It's always interesting to hear the different versions of them. Some English idioms were clearly brought from France by the Normans but other more pan-European ones may have been brought back by crusaders. The variations are sometimes very illuminating.**

 **Darcy likes to ride to keep himself buff.**

 **Thanks for spotting those errors, _vaarin_ and _Windchimed_.**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 20 were:**

 **"Tangled up in Blue" by _FatPatricia515_ ,**

 **"Blue on Blue" by _Jansfamily4_ ,**

 **"To rob Peter to pay Paul" by _vaarin_ , **

**"A Blue Velvet Winter Wedding" by _EmilyWoods_ ,**

 **"Mortification and Marriage' by _ilex_ - _ferox_ ,**

 **"Married in style", "Sky-blue after the storms", "Standing on little ceremony", "Frank conversations" by guest.**

 **"Ample Sisters" by _Windchimed_ ,**

 **"Musings and Matrimony" by guest,**

 **"Two Weddings and Wickham's Funeral" by _stacey_. _eats_**

 **I think I will go with "Robbing Peter to pay Paul" by _vaarin_ , but I'll submit your entry for this chapter, _ilex_ - _ferox_.**

* * *

 **Chapter 21** **The** **Wedding** **Punch**

Keeping Georgie apart from the militia soldiers after the ceremony initially proved quite easy. As Jane's attendants, Lizzy and Georgie were among the first to leave the church. And as it was the younger officers, Chamberlayne and Denny, who were seated on the ends of the pews, the ladies were not troubled by as much as a glimpse of Lieutenant Wickham during their departure.

Outside, a huge crowd of villagers and tenants waited to wish the married couple well. The multitude followed the wedding guests as far as the gates of Longbourn. During this removal, Lizzy kept Miss Darcy in conversation, though one ear was trained on the squeals and giggles of her two younger sisters, often accompanied by a shout of laughter from an officer. But Lizzy did not recognise Lieutenant Wickham's voice amongst the throng and guessed the more senior officers might be lagging further behind. As the invited guests continued through the gate, Mr Bennet mounted the stone steps of the lodge* to announce to all and sundry that a pig on a spit and some kegs had been set up for them outside the tithe barn. This was met with a few loud cheers of 'God bless you, squire!' and general approbation.

Lizzy could not hope her avoidance of Mr Wickham could continue by luck however. Much as she would have liked to trade banter with some of the older, better educated officers, once they reached the manor house, she resolved to draw Georgie off to some quiet place to reduce the possibility of any embarrassing encounters. So she encouraged Georgie to first enter the dining room to select some viands from the feast laid out there before retreating to a quieter place.

The wedding breakfast proved as memorable as Mrs Bennet had hoped for. Such a quantity of food! and the quality was not lacking either. There were soups and wafers, pies and tarts, fruits and vegetables, puddings and cakes, jellies and ices. The board seemed to groan under their weight. How Mrs Hill had contrived the half of it, Elizabeth could not comprehend. But she had certainly outdone herself. Why the supper at the Netherfield ball was nothing to it!

And, of course, the compliments showered in from all the guests. Mrs Bennet basked in the adulation; told everyone she wanted a feast worthy of her dear girls.

Having not been particularly impressed with the fare served up at Almack's, Elizabeth was very interested to know what Georgie thought of the spread. She hesitated to ask, lest it be construed she was fishing for compliments. But after selecting some choice morsels for their plates, they retreated to a sitting room that gave a view of the back garden through some French doors —where they might safely observe the festivities—Georgie volunteered an opinion for herself.

"This is the most amazing feast! Your mother sets a very good table!"

"I do not know how she managed it," admitted Lizzy, "as the kitchens are not large. I expect she enlisted as much help as she could get from the shopkeepers of Meryton, but I recognise quite a few of the dishes as favourites of our housekeeper."

"You must keep an army of servants!" exclaimed Georgie, as she bit into a cut-laid tart.*

Lizzy was spared from denying this by the arrival of Lydia, who burst upon them with a flounce of her skirts.

"You will never guess who has not turned up!" she pouted.

The answer immediately darted into Lizzy's mind with a flash of hope and a jolt of perturbation. But before she could even think of a way of turning the conversation—like 'Lydia, your gown is on fire!'—her sister had blurted out the dreaded name.

"George Wickham! He promised me faithfully he would dance with me first and he didn't even come!" Lydia stamped.

Thankfully Georgie did not swoon or even stagger.

"Well, perhaps, he is ill," said Lizzy urbanely, though her heart thumped within her chest. "Do any of the other officers know what has become of him?"

"He has taken furlough! Now, of all times!" declared Lydia, rolling her eyes.

"Well, he might have gone to visit a sick relative," offered Lizzy, with every appearance of disinterest.

"Don't be so stupid, Lizzy!" spat Lydia, annoyed by her sister's seeming indifference. "Surely you remember he said he had no kith or kin* in the world to care for him!"

"He must have had some good reason," said Lizzy, who could feel nothing but relief. "Surely there are other officers you can dance with?"

Lydia turned up her nose. "Captain Carter is passable I suppose, but he is not as much fun as George. How flat!"

And with that, she flounced off.

Georgie's uncharacteristic silence throughout this exchange had not gone unnoticed by Lizzy. She turned now to see that Georgie was quite pale.

"I suppose George Wickham is a common enough name," Georgie whispered.

"I'm sorry, Georgie," said Lizzy, mentally berating herself. "I should have warned you. My mind has been completely caught up with the wedding. George joined the militia that is stationed nearby in Meryton soon after it arrived here. It was inevitable that he would be invited to the wedding."

"And you are sure it is the same George Wickham? _My_ George?"

"I'm afraid he told me a little of his history—growing up in Derbyshire—and your brother warned me to be careful of him soon after I received my inheritance."

Georgie went paler still. "Oh! Did Fitzwilliam explain why?"

"No, he merely said George was a wolf in sheep's clothing."

Georgie mulled over this for a while. "And did George do anything to make up to you?" she asked hesitantly.

A cold feeling crept from Lizzy's face to go shivering down her spine. Goose pimples rippled across the flesh of her upper arms. She remembered Mr Wickham importuning her to walk with him in the flambeau-lit garden, brushing his ungloved hand across her face, breathing on her. How stupid and headstrong she was to have disdained Mr Darcy's advice at the time! Still, she did not wish to rub salt* into poor Georgie's wound.

"I cannot say. He was perhaps a little more forward than I deemed seemly at the Netherfield ball. But there was nothing more than that."

Georgie became paler in her silence. Her lips now looked quite bloodless. "The militia! He might be killed! Or sent to America or India!"

"Are you well?" asked Elizabeth, truly worried that her friend might swoon. "Would you like to retire upstairs?"

"No," said Georgie firmly. "My brother will not like it if I make a scene. Perhaps we should go outside. I believe the cool air will do me good."

Accordingly they retrieved their shawls and went. Lizzy was gratified to see her friend's colour return after several minutes in the brisk air.

Lydia had, of course, immediately returned to the open air dance floor that had been constructed on the back lawn in anticipation of the revel. Little did Lizzy know, but this had also almost been an extra expense drawn on the Longbourn estate. Fortunately her father had nipped that one in the bud by having the planks retrieved from an outbuilding that had blown down during a storm several years ago.

Several musicians including two fiddlers and a man with a tin whistle stamped their feet nearby, waiting for the married couple to appear. A servant was coaxing a fire to life in a brazier for their comfort.

Soon the officers, keen to start proceedings, began to clap their hands slowly, demanding the newlyweds. Laughing, Jane and Bingley stepped out of the house and ran, hands clasped, towards the dance floor. Eager arms reached out to form an arch, through which the happy couple stooped to run. The crowd demanded a jig.

As soon as the newlyweds began the dance, other couples ventured onto the floor. First among them was Mr Collins, pulling Mary along behind him, obviously keen to advertise that she was soon to be his possession. Lizzy almost gaped to see him dance. His notion of a jig* was more akin to a highland fling. Lydia arrived soon after with Chamberlayne, having obviously failed to find Captain Carter. Others soon joined them.

As Lizzy provided a comic running commentary on the proceedings, Georgie continued to regain her natural hue until Lizzy's observations on her cousin's dancing elicited a smile from her friend. They were both startled by the appearance of Captain Carter, who had sidled up beside them under cover of the music.

"Miss Elizabeth! How good to see you again! Would you introduce me to your friend?"

The particularity of Captain Carter's application left Lizzy in no doubt that he was already apprised of Miss Darcy and her circumstances, but she performed the introduction as form required. Some inconsequential banter on the wedding and the weather followed after which Captain Carter finished off the tankard he was quaffing and promptly asked Georgiana if she cared to dance.

"I'm not sure Miss Darcy is up to dancing," interpolated Lizzy swiftly. "She was feeling a little faint a moment ago, which is why we came outside."

"Oh, no! I am quite recovered now!" smiled Georgie.

"Excellent!" cried Captain Carter. "Just wait one moment while I find somewhere to put this d— tankard down!" he said, heading for a convenient tree stump.

"Georgie! Are you sure your brother would approve?" Lizzy whispered urgently.

"Oh, yes!" said Georgie. "His only instructions were that I should not dance with the same gentleman twice."

Captain Carter returned to retrieve his partner.

Lizzy did not stand alone long. She was soon approached by Charlotte Lucas and the two heartily embraced.

"Charlotte! I did not see you in the church. How are you?"

"Very well, Lizzy. We were up the back, having arrived late. Mariah could not find one of her shoes."

"Has she so many now she cannot keep track of them?" laughed Lizzy.

"It would appear so," smiled Charlotte.

"But come now," said Lizzy. "You have not been forthcoming in your letters. How did this romance with Mr Goulding progress? You know he is not one of my favourite people. Are you sure you will be happy?"

Charlotte looked about her swiftly before leaning closer to her friend. "There are some things, Lizzy, that I believe should never be committed to paper. My reasons for marrying are simple. At twenty-nine, I was grateful to receive an offer at all. As it is, I will be mistress of an estate and within a close distance to my parents who cannot be many years from needing someone to check on their welfare. Nor will I be a burden on them financially. You cannot know what a great weight has been lifted from my heart."

"But Mr Goulding, Charlotte? Do you share a single common interest?" asked Lizzy incredulously.

"Yes, Lizzy. He is wanting a wife and I am wanting to be married," said Charlotte snappishly.

"And so he just turned up one day to propose?"

Charlotte blushed. "I can see that nothing but the truth will satisfy you, Lizzy. If you must have the whole story, I was standing one night under my parent's portico, looking at the stars. I often do that. It so peaceful and calm. Sometimes it is nice just to be alone. Well I was standing there, when I heard a great clattering in the distance and Mr Goulding drove by like Jehu.* I waved as he went past. I was quite surprised when he reined in, turned his carriage and drove back to me. He then asked me to marry him."

Lizzy gaped. "Were you looking fetchingly becoming in the moonlight? Did he hurl himself from his carriage to throw himself at your feet?"

Charlotte bit her lip as if to stifle a laugh but her face subsequently underwent some strange contortions."Well, he couldn't you see, because he had to hold his horses."

"So he didn't get down from the carriage?"

"No. But I said 'yes' and then I went to the horses' heads and bid him come in to take tea. So he got down and banged on the front door and hallooed for a servant to walk the horses up and down for an half-hour and... And that's how it was."

"Curious," mused Lizzy. "Perhaps he noticed that bald spot on the back of his head is getting bigger."

Charlotte stamped her foot. "Now, Lizzy, don't be cruel! We, all of us, are getting older! And some of us didn't start out as pretty as others! If you must know, it was the night that Mr Bingley proposed to Jane. You know Mr Goulding cherished hopes in that direction. Once he knew he had failed to gain her hand, I believe he decided it didn't matter who he married anyway. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Indeed, he came again the next morning and would not look me in the eye. I fully expected him to beg off. But my father greeted him with such enthusiasm before we could be private that I believe he resigned himself to the situation."

Lizzy grasped her friend's arm. "I'm sorry, Charlotte. I didn't mean to be horrible. I am only concerned for your future happiness. Do you think you can be happy?"

"Yes, Lizzy. I have met his father who is a very nice man. He said everything that was kind to welcome me to the house. He will be staying with us, so if Mr Goulding should go off to the horse races, I will not be lonely. The estate is a good one and will keep me occupied. And if I should be blessed with children, I do not think I will ever be lonely."

Lizzy wondered if Mr Goulding would relinquish the opera dancer he was rumoured to keep in London, but as this piece of hearsay had come to her via Charlotte, she knew her friend was not entering matrimony under any delusions.

She sighed and squeezed her friend's arm again, then adopted a more cheerful manner. "And are you and your swain intending to dance?"

"We had planned to come to the wedding together, in his curricle. But he arrived at Lucas Lodge shortly before my parents were to set off in his day clothes and announced that there was a pointer bitch he must inspect. An old friend, some ten miles off, is selling her and he wanted to pip some other acquaintance who was coming down from London to see her."

Lizzy diplomatically only nodded to this explanation.

Now it was Charlotte's turn to sigh. "I believe the mortification of attending Jane's wedding was too much for him. But I told him that the married couple intended to be off by four, so I hope he might arrive after that to join the celebrations."

Just then, a boy in an apron ran up to them and requested Charlotte's presence on behalf of Lady Lucas—Mariah's nose was bleeding.

Lizzy was about to follow her friend to help render assistance when she was stopped in her tracks by the approach of Mr Darcy. Charlotte gave her a saucy smile over her shoulder and bid Mr Darcy good day as she hurried off.

"Miss Bennet! How good to see you again," said Mr Darcy.

Lizzy started at both the appellation and enthusiasm of his greeting. She supposed she was Miss Bennet now. "Good day, Mr Darcy."

"Perhaps, we could talk over here?" said Mr Darcy, leading the way to the far side of a stout tree and a bush that screened an outbuilding from the house.

Lizzy followed him to the indicated place where they were still in full view of the participants on the dance floor but not visible from the house.

"Are you perhaps worried about French spies?" she asked conspiratorially.

"No," he smiled. "I have just slipped my leash by offering to get some drinks for Miss Bingley. I have sent a servant back with them. I expect it will not be long before she sets out in search of me, but this tree might bring a respite."

Lizzy could only raise her eyebrows.

"I wanted to thank you for including my sister in your activities," continued Mr Darcy. "It has been very difficult finding a new trustworthy companion for her. Mrs Annesley seemed the answer to my prayers. To have her go off so soon because of her sister's death was another blow. I hope Georgie's company is not too tiresome—after all, she is five years your junior."

"Not at all. She is remarkably mature for her age. Kitty and Lydia do not have half her sense."

Watching Kitty and Lydia twirl and laugh on the dance floor, Mr Darcy was very much inclined to agree with Miss Elizabeth. He could have made a few cutting jokes but wisely chose to hold his tongue for once.

"Yes, well, my aunt does what she can, but she has no daughters of her own and has only limited sympathy for Georgie's situation."

Having heard continuously of Lady Catherine over the past day from Mr Collins' lips, Elizabeth was at first having trouble understanding this sentence. Was Miss de Bourgh—flower of Kent—some other relation of the grand lady's? But then she immediately realised her mistake. "You mean the aunt in Richmond?"

"Yes, Lady Matlock. She is an intrepid equestrienne. It does Georgie good to get the exercise, but I do wish aunt could be of more help in accompanying Georgie to balls."

"Does your aunt disdain society then? I thought she just liked dogs?"

Darcy looked genuinely bemused. "I'm not sure where you got that impression," he remarked.

"Well, Georgie said your aunt was spending so much time in Richmond recently because of 'Nellie the Fourteenth.' So I naturally assumed..."

But before Elizabeth could finish her chain of reasoning, Mr Darcy suddenly seemed to choke and burst out coughing. She at first thought she might have to thump him on the back, but he recovered presently and cleared his throat. "Did Georgie explain just who 'Nellie the Fourteenth' is?"

"Well, no. She was rather puzzled by it actually. I wondered if your aunt kept hounds. My father has gun dogs and he always calls one of them 'Henry'. We are currently up to 'Henry the Fifth'—a notable monarch. So I thought it might have been something like that, or the fourteenth in the litter—like the Romans and 'Octavius'.*

"And what did Georgie say to that?"

"She thought that seemed the most likely explanation."

Darcy seemed to heave a great sigh. "Miss Bennet, I must thank you for diverting my sister's mind. But in case some impertinent person should seek to embarrass my sister at some social function, I fear I should make a better explanation. Firstly, you must forgive my aunt. She spent time in the French court and belongs to a generation that speaks more freely than is considered seemly these days. She is not talking of dogs but of mistresses. She always retreats to the country when my uncle begins to flaunt his mistresses about."

The tips of Elizabeth's ears turned red at such a bawdy detail from Mr Darcy's lips but she was strangely gratified by his confidence. Her curiosity got the better of her.

"Goodness! Have there really been fourteen?" she blurted, then immediately regretted it.

He glanced at her with an amused expression on his face before looking back at the dance floor. "Oh, not all at once! But he currently has one he has set up in Curzon Street, Nellie the fourteenth, my aunt calls her—after Nell Gwynne.*"

"Oh, that must be very uncomfortable for your aunt!" said Elizabeth.

"Yes, so she stays away so none of her 'frenemies' can score petty points on her. But it usually lasts no more than a few months. My uncle gets bored and moves on. Unfortunately, this last one is proving remarkably resilient."

"Frenemies*?" queried Elizabeth. "I have never heard that word!"

"One of my own, I'm afraid. But very apt for my aunt's friends. Excuse me, I should not be talking of such things to you. I only wished to say I am grateful to you for being such a good companion to Georgie and teaching her useful things. I understand we will see Mary in 'The Gown' tomorrow?"

"Yes, it is no great thing—not as opulent as Jane's—but Mary wished to have something practical."

Darcy nodded.

There was a short silence during which Elizabeth sought desperately for something to say when she was surprised by:

"Would you care to dance?"

"I thought we were hiding?"

"True, it would blow our cover, but worth it, don't you think?"

"You dance jigs?" Elizabeth asked incredulously.

"And the occasional reel too," admitted Darcy.

Elizabeth smiled. "Very well."

So they adjourned to the dance floor where Lizzy discovered that Mr Darcy danced a jig very well, when he chose to. She was quite out of breath by the time the set finished. When Mr Darcy offered his hand to help her step down from the dance floor, she did not spurn it—the ground was still crisp from last night's frost and wet in places where it had been trampled by many feet. His hand was large and surprisingly warm from the energy of the dance—almost radiating heat like fire. Mr Darcy had just let go of her hand when a sharp voice voice she recognised as Caroline Bingley's made Lizzy look up.

"You must be parched from such vigorous dancing, Miss Elizabeth! Here, I have fetched you some punch!"

And with that, Miss Bingley slightly tripped and a stream of orange punch was launched from one of the cups she held towards Elizabeth. Well primed by the dance, Lizzy sprang out of the way like a cat.

What happened next, Elizabeth was not sure. But she thought Miss Bingley slipped on the wet grass and the result of it was that Caroline emptied the glass in her left hand over herself as she landed on her bottom. Perhaps all would have been saved if Miss Bingley had chosen to wear orange that day, but unfortunately she had worn ivory, not realising until too late that the bride had chosen blue.

"Oh, dear!" cried Jane, running up. "Are you all right, Caroline?"

"I'm fine!" said Miss Bingley between her teeth as she scrambled to her feet.

A boy was sent running and Louisa arrived with Caroline's opera cloak to wrap round her sister while Bingley arranged for Hurst's carriage to be brought round to the carriage sweep.* Having been intimately involved in the accident, Lizzy felt obliged to follow Jane around to the front of the house as she attended Caroline. She was thus in a privileged position to hear Mr Bingley's remark to his sister as he closed the coach door upon her:

"It is best not to perform the same accident twice, Caroline. Lest it be recognised for the mean trick it is."

* * *

The rest of the breakfast was unexceptionable. Mariah recovered from her bloody nose, which had been inflicted by Mr Collins during one of his wilder dance moves. Mr Darcy danced three more times: once with Jane, once with Mary and once with Charlotte, causing Lizzy to immediately spot his scheme. Georgie was in much demand as a partner but religiously declined any solicitations for a second dance. Mr Bingley took Jane off to Netherfield as his bride at sunset. Most of the guests chose to depart soon after, but a few hardened souls danced on in the parlour when the band removed themselves to the hall. True to his word, Mr Goulding arrived at five. He deigned to dance once with his betrothed before keeping Mr Hurst company in the dining room over the remains of the feast. The band packed it in at midnight, but not before Mr Collins, a trifle the worse for wear from the punch, tried to sing solo to a folk tune they were playing, definitely not in a key that suited his voice.

At eight the next morning he was married to his bride with a splitting headache. He departed to Kent from the church door in a hired post-chaise, with Mary, a picnic basket, and a bottle of laudanum.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

lodge—the gatekeeper's cottage

cut-laid tart—a type of medieval jam tart. See the Pinterest board for pictures

kith—Old English cȳthth, of Germanic origin; related to couth. The original senses were 'knowledge', 'one's native land', and 'friends and neighbours'. The phrase kith and kin originally denoted one's country and relatives; later one's friends and relatives.

To rub salt in the wound—to inflict greater pain. Apparently salt was used as an antiseptic after lashing in the navy. The phrase does seem to be contemporaneous with the Regency period according to Ngram.

jig—a traditional dance similar to tap dancing. The highland fling largely involves jumping on one leg while swinging the other leg around the opposite knee.

Jehu—a biblical king who drove his carriage very fast.

Nell Gwynne—Charles II's mistress.

Frenemies—1950s, but like Shakespeare, Darcy is allowed to coin new words.

carriage sweep—a turning circle for a carriage at the front of the house, sometimes around a fountain or statue.


	22. Reflections on the married state

**My apologies for the delay in posting, I broke my arm, so I'm currently a leftie.**

 **Despite my reminder to keep comments polite, we still had a few guest trolls, including one who accused me of not doing research. Can you read footnotes?**

 **If you think you find a historical inaccuracy, please provide evidence to support your claim. Wrt glove colour, for example, you will find opera gloves of all colours in the fashion magazines of the day. See the Costume Parisien board on my Pinterest account.**

 **As for gentlemen never talking to unmarried ladies about mistresses—Jane Eyre.**

 **And thanks for pointing out a salacious comment Jane Austen put into the mouth of Mary Crawford to characterise her worldliness, _JRTT_.**

 **Nonetheless, several people did politely raise some reservations about the conversation. Darcy definitely is not Mr Rochester, so I redrafted the dialogue between Lizzy and Darcy. It doesn't change the plot, so if you're not fussed, read on. For those who choose to reread, I would appreciate your comments on the change. For the moment I've left the old dialogue near it in stars.**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 21 were:**

 **'Mortification and Marriage', 'More Misadventures with Punch' by _ilex_ - _ferox_ ,**

 **'The Wedding Punch' by _EmilyWoods_ ,**

 **'Love is in the Air' by _nanciellen_ ,**

 **'Shall we Dance to our own Tune' by _FatPatricia515_ ,**

 **'The Reel Darcy', 'Sweet Caroline [redux]', 'Sunrise Sunset' by _suddenlysingle_ ,**

 **'Taking Wives' by _JRTT_. **

**'The Caroline Conundrum' by _luliin_ ,**

 **Oh, very good, _EmilyWoods_! 'The Wedding Punch' it is!**

* * *

 **Chapter 22** **Reflections** **on** **the** **married** **state**

After seeing Mary off at the church gate, the family and few guests who had braved the eight o'clock ceremony after yesterday's revels walked to Longbourn, most of them definitely the worse for wear. Despite the cloudy conditions, Kitty and Lydia pulled their poke bonnets over their eyes and generally grumbled about the insolicitude of relatives who got everyone up before dawn for the sake of their own convenience.

Noticeably chirpy among the group was Mr Bingley, who had driven over from Netherfield with Jane. After arriving at the church, he had sent his curricle on to Longbourn with his groom so the horses might be stabled and now walked along cheerfully with his wife and new relatives. Mr Bingley's high colour had not escaped Lizzy's notice when he had arrived at the church, nor his unusually glittering eyes. In short, he looked to be in a high state of excitement—truly enjoying the felicity of the married state. Of course, Lizzy's eyes had next flown to Jane who had blushed and cast her eyes down, but the embarrassed smile on her sister's lips had contained a hint of something else. Did Lizzy dare think it? Was there not a hint of smugness in that smile?

The rest of the Netherfield party had not come to Mary's wedding despite them now being related to the bride by marriage. Elizabeth thought that the early hour had likely been too much for people used to town hours. As she did not miss their company at all, she felt the newness of the connection entirely excused them.

Although the Lucases had been among the last to depart Longbourn the previous night, their carriage also arrived in time for Mary's ceremony. Surprisingly, Mr Darcy accompanied them. He looked immaculate as ever despite the early hour and was never seen once to yawn throughout the ceremony, despite the Collinses having chosen one of the longer versions. Lizzy could only conclude that his seemingly indolent lifestyle during her short stay at Netherfield had merely been that of a guest conforming to the habits of his host's household.

The small but select group who attended Mary's wedding had all been informally invited back to Longbourn for a 'pot luck' breakfast by Mrs Bennet—nothing special beyond what might normally be served to the family, she assured them. Now Darcy strolled along the lane beside his sister who was walking arm in arm with Elizabeth.

"And which parts of the gown did you do, Georgie?" asked Darcy conversationally.

"I did part of the hem and the undersleeves, which allows the dress to be worn both in summer and winter—very clever, don't you think?"

"Yes," agreed Darcy, "—both the design and your stitching. I had no idea you were so talented based on your samplers!"

"Oh!" said Georgie, slightly embarrassed. "But they are so pointless! I am sure they were mostly thrown away!"

"Well, it is gratifying to see you are able to apply yourself when it is necessary," said Darcy.

Elizabeth listened to this exchange with a trifle-jaundiced eye. It was quite obvious to her that Miss Darcy was a young lady of exceptional talents on the piano, thwarted from fulfilling her musical potential by her brother's notions of decorum. Lizzy found Mr Darcy's praise on his sister's sewing rather condescending—as if she had barely managed to tick all the boxes of some list of feminine accomplishments. Had Georgie been a man, she would have been appreciated for her stellar musical talent, even if she were incapable of winding her own watch. Furthermore, Lizzy felt Darcy was talking to his sister as if she were six instead of sixteen. Nonetheless, Lizzy did not wish to belittle Georgie's contribution to the dress, which had been much appreciated.

"Indeed!" interpolated Lizzy. "At first we shamefully wasted Georgie's stitches on the hem—which was voluminous! But once we saw what pretty stitches she set, we soon saw our mistake and set her to work on a more conspicuous part of the gown."

"Yes!" said Georgie, giving a little jump of triumph. "And now I have done something truly useful, I don't ever want to stitch a sampler again! I have a good notion to replace the curtains in the saloon at Pemberley! They are sadly faded!"

Darcy raised his eyebrows. "I think you are reaching for the moon there! There must be miles of thread in the making up of them! Indeed! I believe Mrs Reynolds told me once that a dozen women had been hired to stitch them!"

"Well, I suppose I should leave it to the new mistress of Pemberley," said Georgie, "—for what if I should choose the wrong colour? The curtains may only be up six months before they are taken down by your wife!"

"I wouldn't be calling the Banns just yet, Georgie," said Darcy, in a rather sarcastic tone.

"No?" asked Georgie with a twinkle in her eye.

"No," said Darcy curtly.

Having thus turned the table neatly on her brother by reminding him of his duties, Georgie gave Elizabeth a saucy look.

Still feeling the effects of yesterday's wedding feast, Lizzy opted for a light breakfast, eating only a slice of toast and a cup of tea. The Lucases partook heartily of the ham and eggs, amidst many compliments from Sir William, and finally took themselves off. They left Mr Darcy to make his own way back to Lucas Lodge at his convenience, upon receiving his assurances that he would appreciate the walk. Lizzy thought he would more likely appreciate the solitude.

Elizabeth was subsequently petitioned by Jane to help with the wedding presents. Most of these had been opened yesterday in the presence of the guests, to be duly exclaimed over: several ells of a cornflower blue silk from the Gardiners, a basket of fruit and preserves from the Lucases from their succession house*, and a soup tureen from the Darcys, which apparently matched one that had been chipped at Netherfield during the brother's recent stay there. A few gifts, which had come from guests who had been unable to attend—Bingley's relatives in Yorkshire and Lady Mickelham among them—remained to be opened and letters of thanks written.

Georgie was about to offer her assistance in this task when her brother folded his napkin and suggested they walk out together along the banks of the brook. This application considerably surprised Miss Darcy who was not accustomed to her brother's voluntarily seeking her company. She was rather chuffed to accept.

The eldest Bennet sisters retired to the sitting room. At last, Lizzy and Jane were alone. Lizzy's curiosity was rampant but she wisely curbed her tongue and waited for Jane to speak first.

"Oh, Lizzy!" said Jane with a tranquil smile. "If mother should ever give you a talk before you are married, do not be perturbed by her!"

"Ah!" replied her sister. "You know I have no intention of marrying. But when did she manage to corner you?"

"When she sent you and Georgie out for flowers."

"Oh, poor Jane!" exclaimed Lizzie, stroking her sister's hand. "Did she disturb your tranquility very much?"

"Yes! Aunt Gardiner was there also, and she tried to reassure me after some of Mother's more alarming advice, but I was shaking in my shoes by the time Charles and I departed for Netherfield."

"But it was not so bad?" asked Lizzy.

"Oh, Lizzy!" said Jane, moving closer and lowering her voice to a whisper. "He kissed me in the coach, once we were clear of Longbourn, and it was like I wasn't even sitting on the seat any more but floating in his arms!"

"Really?" prompted Lizzy, agog to hear more.

"Yes!" averred Jane. "I was not sure what to do once we reached Netherfield, but Charles completely took charge. He told Mrs Nicholls we would only need a light supper, served at eleven, consisting only of champagne and some sandwiches—whatever she had in the larder. It was to be brought to his bedchamber door and left on the bureau outside. Then he took my hand and led me up the stairs.

"Lizzy, he is so thoughtful! He took me to the room that had been set aside as my own—for it is the mistress's room. It was not used at all by the family when they were at Netherfield last autumn—being beside the master's room, and with an interconnecting door. He said I should make myself comfortable, but asked me not to change from my wedding gown. My maid was to knock on the door to his chamber when she left.

"So Tilly, the girl who was sent down from London by the agency, did that—just taking some of the pins out of my hair so that it could easily be let down. Was that not clever of her? Then when she knocked, Charles came through and kissed me till I was positively weak at the knees! Then he led me through to his own room."

Lizzy's eyes were now quite wide. Realising she was holding her breath, she discretely exhaled.

"He is such a romantic!" smiled Jane reminiscently. "He had strewn rose petals all over the sheets! It was ever so nice! He kissed and caressed me so long! Such a gentleman!"

Elizabeth waited with bated breath but Jane seemed disinclined to elaborate.

"This will not do!" Lizzy exclaimed. "Here am I, expecting to be educated, and you swerve away from the details? So you woke up in your wedding dress?"

"Oh, no," Jane blushed. "He helped me out of it. Then we rolled it up very carefully so that it would not be crushed. You have to be ever so careful with velvet!"

"Ah wonderful!" retorted Lizzy. "He is a saint after all! I must say, his halo had slipped a little, for me, after the Netherfield ball. But any man who can delay his lovemaking for the proper care of velvet is well on the way to canonisation! And did he also fold your stays and chemise?"

Jane smiled and blushed. "Oh no! Although I was a little surprised at how adept he was with dealing with them."

"Ah ha!" cried her sister, mentally confirming Charlotte's conjecture that one would be hard-pressed to find any well off gentleman who was a neophyte—this, in defence of Mr Goulding and his opera dancer. "Maybe not a saint after all!"

"Oh, Lizzy! Hush!" said Jane, turning a deep red. "I only meant to reassure you that he was most considerate and that marriage to such a man—a good man—is like a little slice of heaven."

"High praise, indeed, Mr Bingley!" said Lizzy, and seeing that she had truly mortified Jane with her prompting and pressing, took pity on her, swiftly turning the subject to the remaining wedding presents.

Lizzy handed Jane first the present from the Micklehams, a large gift that had been lodged in a crate at the feet of the ladies' maids during the journey from Hertfordshire. Jane opened it to reveal a beautiful Wedgwood basalt vase.

"Oh, Lizzy! It is beautiful! Lady Mickleham should not have!"

"Well, it is not quite the Portland Vase*, which is what I had in mind when aunt Sempronia first mentioned that she would like to give you something by Wedgwood. But I do think, it will work nicely in that empty niche on the staircase at Netherfield. And if you should choose to give up the house to live elsewhere, it's colour should recommend it to many schemes. Freddy helped us choose it."

The other gifts, from Bingley's relatives in Yorkshire, were small but pleased Jane in their implicit blessing of the marriage.

Paper and ink were then fetched. The sisters bent themselves to the task of writing letters of thanks.

"You have not mentioned Caroline and Louisa," remarked Lizzy, after composing her first paragraph to her aunt on Jane's behalf. "I presume they were still abed this morning. Did they greet you when you arrived home last night?"

A slight cloud passed over Jane's face.

"We arrived at Netherfield to find the rest of the family had already returned to London. Caroline had left a very pretty letter, explaining how she knew Charles and I would prefer our privacy, but I was hoping to re-establish our friendship before she and Louisa went off."

"I call it very shabby," said Elizabeth.

"Oh, no!" protested Jane. "I call it very thoughtful! But I would have liked if they had stayed a little longer."

Lizzy shook her head, too used to Jane's seeing goodness where there was none.

"Indeed, Lizzy!" continued Jane. "The sisters gave me a very handsome present—a large dressing mirror on a stand. I believe Charles said Caroline ordered it for herself when she first came to Netherfield. I have never seen a finer one—in rosewood with ormulu mounts. It is so large, one can see one's entire person in it without stooping. It was sitting in my chamber with a note attached when I returned from the wedding."

"Well, I admit that was very generous and rather throws my gift in the shade."

"Heavens, no, Lizzy! Your comb in just perfect. Just what I wanted! I will not let you spoil my complete happiness. Everyone has been most thoughtful."

"Very well," smiled Lizzy. "Let me not disturb your satisfaction."

Georgie arrived back soon after and Mr Darcy bid them farewell. The ladies would have invited him to tea but he demurred, saying he would not impose on Mrs Bennet's hospitality any longer.

"You will not get rid of us that easily, I'm afraid," said Lizzy. "It is our intention to walk over to Lucas Lodge as soon as we have finished our task here, so that we may help Charlotte with her own preparations!"

Darcy merely smiled, tipped his hat and declared he would see them in the afternoon. With that, he went off.

The following week turned out to be one of the most felicitous of Lizzy's life thus far. Lizzy and Georgie walked to Lucas Lodge every day, where preparations for Charlotte's wedding to Mr Goulding were paramount. Although Lady Lucas conceded to her husband that besting the Bennet feast would be difficult, she felt anything less than her best efforts would be paltry.

Lizzy and Georgie often volunteered to walk the further distance into Meryton to procure whatever the household required, from more silk thread to flour. Whenever she was able, Charlotte added herself to these expeditions. Surprisingly, Mr Darcy always got up from his book by the fire to come along too and very obligingly carried the basket.

Moreover he visited Longbourn every afternoon, walking often with his sister and Lizzy in the gardens. Lizzy could not exactly say that he ever unbent. He said less than the average man but when he did speak, Lizzy began to appreciate his very dry sense of humour and cutting wit. She saw distinct resemblances to her father's sense of humour, although Mr Darcy's tenor was less mocking and characterised more by the occasional barb and sharp ripostes.

Of course, Lizzy never congratulated herself that Mr Darcy's attentions were directed towards her. Between giving his friend some space at Netherfield and avoiding Sir William's assiduous attentions, it was hardly surprising he sought his sister's company.

As for Charlotte's wedding, it went off very well. The bride looked a little plainer than perhaps she even was, thanks to Lady Lucas's unfortunate choice of a gown of the latest mode, which did not suit her eldest daughter. But if Charlotte was not handsome than nor was her husband, and Charlotte at least had the benefit of her radiant smile. Mr Goulding looked a little sour. Old Mr Goulding, who hardly ever left Haye Park, exerted himself to attend. He spent the wedding feast by the Lucases' hearth, wrapped up in a blanket and wearing a cap to protect his bare head from drafts.

While the wedding breakfast could not compare to the Bennets', all the guests agreed that Lady Lucas had done justice to the occasion. Sir William wiped away a tear as his eldest daughter entered the carriage to begin her new life as mistress of Haye Park, gratified that his admission to the ranks of the gentry had been carried forward into the next generation. But Mr Goulding got offered no opportunity for Bingley-like caresses of Charlotte in the carriage, for old Mr Goulding accompanied the newlyweds home.

Though the visit of the three weddings was remembered by Lizzy as a time of great felicity, two incidents of a slightly less pleasant nature stood out in the week, afflicting her but slightly, but others more so.

The first concerned the long mirror. Of course, there had been time to visit Jane in her new abode several times. On the first trip to Netherfield, Georgie and Lizzy had gone with Mrs Bennet in Lizzy's new carriage, to take tea. Mrs Bennet had been so full of compliments for Lizzy's new conveyance on the trip over that one might have imagined she had previously been forced to walk everywhere. But as soon as she reached Netherfield, Fanny was redecorating the entire house, with suggestions for new curtains, different paint in the drawing room and a new stove for Mrs Nicholls. Lizzy had more specific concerns: to see if the vase she had helped choose looked as well in the staircase as she had pictured and to view Jane's new bedchamber.

Of course, it was not long after entering this room that Lizzy thought of the new mirror and enquired if it was in the dressing room. What a shock to find it was no longer there!

To Lizzy's enquiries, Jane sheepishly explained she had come back from her first visit to Longbourn as Mrs Bingley to find it gone—a carrier had come in their absence and spirited it off to London. It had all been done on Caroline's instruction and under Mrs Nicholls' supervision. The reason, explained in a short letter from Caroline received two days later, was an unsightly scratch on one of the uprights, which Jane had not even noticed. It was Caroline's intention to have it fixed by the furniture maker.

But by the time Lizzy returned to London, the mirror had yet to make a reappearance and privately she wondered if it ever would.

The second incident caused some embarrassment to Georgie. Towards the end of the week, word came from Lydia via Meryton that Mr Wickham had not returned from his furlough as expected.

This, in itself, was not so very bad. But further information was forthcoming the next day from Charlotte, who arrived from Haye Park the day after her marriage to see Lizzy off. The Gardiners had already gone off after the Bennet weddings as Mr Gardiner could not spare more time off work. But Darcy had offered to join their travelling party, intending to ride beside the carriage.

Thus they were all standing together when Charlotte dropped her artillery shell. She had information that Miss King, the heiress who had briefly graced the shire before being sent back to her aunt in Bath, had eloped with Wickham to Gretna. Colonel Forster was apparently livid at the bad example set by one of his officers. Nor was it a match that pleased Miss King's relatives. With her dowry, they had hoped for something better than a match with a penniless officer with no connections.

It was not surprising that the information should discommode Georgie. But Lizzy was also surprised to see Mr Darcy start and change colour upon hearing the news, though she would not find out why for some months. There was a short whispered exchange with his sister, during which he offered to ride with her in the carriage and have one of the grooms ride his horse back, but this was softly rejected.

Georgie was unusually silent for the first half of their journey back, bent on introspection. But when Elizabeth suggested they stop in St Albans, at the inn usually favoured by the Bennets, Elizabeth worked hard to cajole the sister back to cheerfulness and Darcy seemed to also regain his equanimity. The coffee and apple pie seemed to do the rest.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

succession house—a green house or conservatory. In agriculture, succession planting refers to several planting methods that increase crop availability during a growing season.

Portland Vase—an exquisite Roman cameo vase found in the tomb of the Emperor Alexander Severus in the 16th century. Wedgwood handmade around 40 reproductions in clay in 1780, which have never been equaled since in ceramics.


	23. The mirror crack'd

**Thanks for your feedback, _PearlBlue5_ , I agree with your comment and will have another crack at it.**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 22 were:**

 **"The Mirror Crack'd",**

 **"Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind",**

 **"Two weddings and an elopement" by _suddenlysingle_ ,**

 **"Three Weddings and an Excludable" by _nanciellen_ ,**

 **"4 weddings and a mirror" by _FatPatricia515_ ,**

 **"Wedding Gifts" by _Lee3619_ ,**

 **"Three weddings and an elopement" by _mariantoinette1_ ,**

 **"Roses, Roses All the Way" by _ilex_ - _ferox_ ,**

 **"Mirror Weddings" by _Windchimed_ ,**

 **"Broken Mirrors" by _justafan2111_**

 **Some great suggestions there, including a very apt and erudite quote from Hamlet by _suddenlysingle_. I thought of ****"Reflections on some weddings" based on your suggestion,** ** _FatPatricia515_ , and decided on "Reflections on the married state".**

* * *

 **Chapter 23** **The** **mirror** **crack'd**

The next few months were a time of joyful frivolity for Lizzy. Yes, she kept up her lessons and even started in Latin and Greek. Yet her education was not a chore to her but a time of revelation. She supposed it came from not having to sit any exams like a schoolboy. Even Mr Proctor's continued disapprobation was not enough to spoil her enjoyment of geometry. But the best part of her time was given over to balls and salons, the theatre and the opera, visits to the Gardiners and occasionally, shopping. Her constant companion in all these entertainments was Georgiana and, less frequently, Freddy or Mr Darcy.

Although the gentlemen were kept very busy during the day with their business, one could frequently rely on them to squire the ladies to evening functions, although Darcy was apt to disappear like Merlin at any function where he became the focus of attention of an unmarried lady. Where he went, Elizabeth did not know, but when the carriage was called on their departure, he was generally found to be sitting in it, although once he boarded the coach in the middle of a street near St James, appearing like a wraith from the darkness and causing Elizabeth's heart to miss a beat in that moment before recognition. He then opened the door and swung himself neatly inside before the carriage had come to a complete halt, in a way that was very much in keeping with his general air of unhurried activity.

Elizabeth most enjoyed Mr Darcy's company at the theatre and the opera, where it was possible to talk privately with him. The Darcys kept boxes at both Drury Lane and the Theatre Royal at Covent Garden, shared with their uncle the earl, whom Elizabeth never met—for he used the box on alternate nights by agreement with his nephew. The closest Lizzy ever came to meeting the notorious gentleman was to find his snuffbox wedged in the upholstery of the chair she had sat upon. Before the naked ladies cavorting on its lid could do more than make her blink, the box was transferred to Darcy's pocket so that it might be restored to its owner.

Lady Mickleham and Freddy were frequently of their party on these theatre visits. There had been a time when the Micklehams kept their own box. But when the baron's illness had prevented them from using it for two whole seasons and Freddy had evinced no interest in keeping it up, Lady Mickleham had let it go. With Freddy's interest in theatregoing so wonderfully reanimated, Lady Mickleham had slyly asked her son whether she should enquire for a box once more. To this, Freddy had calmly replied that he was content to rely upon the Darcys' hospitality.

Elizabeth thought she understood both gentlemen's attentions during these expeditions. Freddy had become a dear friend and Lizzy was not beyond suspecting he was partial to Georgie who would be a very eligible match for a future baron, so well connected were the Darcys. As for Darcy, Elizabeth knew him for a very devoted brother and completely failed to see that she had become a object of interest to him. Taciturn as he often was, Mr Darcy was still a bit of a mystery to her. But used to her father's unsocial habits, he had become almost a favourite. He still occasionally said some odiously condescending things, but instead of getting angry, Elizabeth began to tease and spar with him. She was not to be brow-beaten like his sixteen year-old sister! Still, there were one or two occasions where he exasperated her so thoroughly she would gladly have hit him, had that been socially acceptable.

Having always sat in the stalls with the Gardiners on the few previous times she had accompanied them to the theatre, Lizzy was curious to see the interior of the boxes on her first visit to Covent Garden. She found the Darcy box to be luxuriously appointed with several comfortable fauteuils. Darcy and Freddy quickly dragged five into a semicircle near the front of the box and begged the ladies to sit. Lizzy and Georgie sat together near the middle but when Darcy offered Lady Mickleham the seat next to her niece, she demurred, saying the ladies should be better distributed throughout the group. She offered the place instead to Darcy then sat down next to him. This left Freddy to take the place on the opposite end to his mother, next to Miss Darcy. The arrangement suited them all so wonderfully well that it soon became their standard at both theatres.

Both Lady Mickleham and Mr Darcy turned out to be well versed in former productions of favoured plays and opera, providing much witty commentary on the proceedings. They even quietly supplied the lines on one memorable occasion when the actors forgot theirs'.

"Well," laughed Lady Mickleham when the curtain fell, "I once contemplated a life on the stage, which must be my excuse in knowing all the lines to 'Macbeth'. What is yours, Mr Darcy? Did you also dream of being a thespian?"

This caused much hilarity for Georgiana who had to draw breath before uttering, "Heavens, no! He would run a mile before stepping on a stage! He will not even participate in as much as a private play!"

But Lady Mickleham would not take an answer by proxy. She raised her eyebrow and waited for Darcy's reply.

"I beg your pardon," said he, in all seriousness. "I fear I am cursed with a perfect memory."

An answer of such surpassing arrogance could not entirely be let to pass and Lizzy was able to remind him of it on one or two occasions when, through inattention or some other cause, Mr Darcy made some error, such as forgetting his handkerchief or getting their drinks order wrong.

While Lizzy was never alone with Mr Darcy in the box, there were many occasions when they found themselves talking tête-à-tête. Lady Mickleham had a habit of going off after the first act to visit friends, typically spending the intervening acts in their boxes before returning to the Darcy box for the last. So also did other patrons visit the Darcy box during the intermissions, generally friends of Freddie's from Harrow or Oxford. These gentlemen were always very gallant to Georgie. Being a well educated girl, Georgie was aware that it behooved her to talk to Lizzy on her left as well as the gentlemen on her right but somehow this seemed to be neglected, though whether Georgie lost her head in male company or had some more artful purpose was never established. Strangely, her brother never took her up on it.

It was during these private conversations that Lizzy realised Mr Darcy was asking some very odd unconnected questions—like what flower she liked, whether she was fixed in London and what she thought of children. Thinking him starved of a topic, she did not answer these queries very seriously, replying with whatever nonsense entered her head.

Her least favourite function during this time was her presentation at court. Lizzy had hoped to avoid this, at least until the next season, for one had to put one's name down far in advance. Nonetheless, her aunt Sempronia was not beyond hope that a place might become available due to illness. She insisted Lizzy have her court dress made in preparation at her own modiste. The reason for this switch in patronage was the court rules—all ladies were expected to be attired in the fashions of the Queen's generation.

Lizzy left the choice of the gown almost entirely up to her aunt, only making some suggestions for colours. To Lizzy's mind, the result was hilarious but when she was able to get over how ridiculously unlike herself she looked, she rather fancied she resembled her aunt Sempronia.

"Yes," agreed her aunt, almost preening herself. "We could almost be sisters."

Somewhat inevitably, her aunt got her way. When a bout of chicken pox saw some debutantes withdraw from their presentation, Lady Mickleham's connections were sufficient to procure Lizzy a spot.

In the end, the event was not too traumatic. The Queen was kind enough to say one or two words to Lizzy, noting her resemblance to her aunt. Lizzy curtsied and said something proper in reply, which she could not remember afterwards, so nervous had she been.

As luck would have it, they happened to meet Mr Darcy as they left St James Court. Elizabeth and Lady Mickleham were standing in line waiting for their carriage, for though they lived within walking distance of St James, the distance was only navigable in passably sensible attire, which precluded the court gowns they were wearing. Lady Mickleham was, of course, talking to a friend when Lizzy saw Mr Darcy emerge from a building on the opposite side of the street. Perhaps he felt her eyes upon him using that uncanny sixth sense we all have, but he looked up momentarily to return her gaze. She then saw him positively start. He hesitated, then crossed the street to join them.

"Good day, Lady Mickleham, Miss Bennet," he said, giving a bow. "I did not realise your presentation was today. I left the house before Georgie rose."

Lizzy might have felt tempted to tease him about his wonderful memory if her experience of the last few hours had not awed her into a mood of super-politeness. But his subsequent silence and darting, almost covert, looks at her soon relieved her of her former mood.

"Is there a smudge on my nose?" she asked archly.

"No! You just look very different," he admitted, shifting awkwardly to his other foot.

No further explanation was forthcoming.

"Like my aunt?" prompted Lizzy. "You were perhaps thinking we look like sisters?"

"I was not going to say that," Darcy replied.

But what he was going to say he was not saying.

He continued to stare and shift from foot to foot for some moments before suddenly bursting out with, "Excuse me, I have a meeting in the City."

Whereupon he stepped out between the line of carriages and hailed a hackney going in the opposite direction.

"Well!" laughed her aunt Sempronia when they finally gained their carriage. "What have you done to Mr Darcy?"

Lizzy raised her eyebrows at this. "Why nothing!" she replied. "He was just being his usual unsocial self! Perhaps he has been sitting in his club reading a book all morning and forgot how to speak!"

Lady Mickleham just laughed and shook her head.

* * *

Lizzy continued to exchange letters with Jane and was relieved to find Mr Bingley more constant in marriage than he had been in courting. Jane's letters brimmed with love and happiness.

Lizzy was also pleasantly surprised to find she had been wrong about the mirror. It had been returned to Netherfield a month after Jane's wedding, in perfect condition—though Lizzy had wondered if Caroline had required a little prompting from her brother, for its reappearance followed rather closely one of Bingley's short visits to the City on business.

The truth, had Lizzy known it, was a little more insidious. Visiting his sisters at Hurst House, more out of a sense of duty than any sense of brotherly affection, Bingley had been annoyed to discover that his sisters were too busy to see him. After being advised that the ladies had not yet left the house, he strode up the stairs three at a time. Finding the door to Caroline's bedchamber ajar, Bingley decided to admit himself.

He found Caroline admiring herself in a standing mirror, dressed in a luxurious wrap and an enormous hat while Louisa and a maid attended her.

"Charles!" remonstrated Caroline, seeing him in reflection. "A brother should never enter his sister's bedchamber!"

"Is that Jane's mirror that you are standing in front of or your own?" he asked peremptorily.

"It is mine, of course!" returned Caroline.

"So where is Jane's mirror? Surely it does not take a month to fix a scratch!"

"If you are referring to the mirror that was at Netherfield," said Caroline, conceding the point, "this is it. I decided it suited the style of this room better. I will purchase Jane another, better suited to Netherfield."

"Well, you have had a month already," declared Charles. "Get purchasing!"

Caroline rolled her eyes. "You forget, Brother, that due to your draconian measures, I am behindhand in my bills and must recoup before I can contemplate such an expenditure."

"Yes!" said Charles sourly. "That hat looks like you are really minding your pennies."

Caroline ignored this sally and tilted the hat to a more becoming angle.

"Wait a moment!" expostulated Charles. "I thought you already had a standing mirror in this room?"

"It is not as fine," said Louisa, rushing to her sister's defence. "It is now in the dressing room."

Charles was exasperated. "So you have two mirrors while Jane has none?"

"It does suit this room better, Charles," retorted Caroline. "Anyone with taste can see that!"

"Fine!" said Charles. "Be like that! But beware, Caroline! If you wish to be married, you will have to learn to think of someone other than yourself!"

And on seeing that Louisa was again about to protest, Charles turned on his heel and added as his Parthian shot, "Not all men are as compliant as Hurst!"

Charles had then taken himself off to Messrs George Seddon, furniture maker of Aldersgate Street, where he was fairly sure Caroline would have purchased the mirror. His enquiries soon confirmed this supposition and they were pleased to inform Mr Bingley that they had a very similar mirror in stock, which could be delivered promptly. Charles was about to close the deal when his eye fell on a much larger and finer mirror, very costly. How annoyed Caroline would be to be trumped!

A moment's reflection brought reason, however. It had been Bingley's intention to preserve family harmony and his own wife's felicity by never telling her of the substitution, a project that would surely be undermined by this new one of petty point scoring on his sister. So Charles reined in his revenge and preceded the gift back to Netherfield, convinced he had married the sweetest lady in the world—an opinion in which he was probably, for once, correct.

* * *

As it came on towards Easter, a letter from Jane informed Lizzy that she might reasonably expect to be an aunt before the year was out. This was good news that Lizzy was unfortunately unable to share. Thus far, Jane had told neither her husband or their mother on Mrs Nicholls' advice—for it was well known that hopes were often dashed in the early months.

Nonetheless, Lizzy's joy for her sister was almost palpable and she was able to unburden herself to both her aunts in London on the strictest secrecy, knowing she could trust them.

Lizzy did not correspond much with Mary. A few letters were exchanged, mostly out of duty. It was not that the sisters disliked each other or were at odds; they just had few shared interests. To the first letter Elizabeth had sent, describing her various activities in town, Mary had returned one quickly, adjuring Lizzy in such strong terms against mindless dissipation that one might be forgiven for thinking Mary had confused London with Sodom or Gomorrah. Thus Lizzy's second letter had been a little slower in coming and contained only such events that might be considered significant enough to be reported in a newspaper. Mary responded in kind.

It was thus that Lizzy learned that all was not well with Mary's marriage, secondhand from Jane. The news had landed like an artillery shell at Longbourn in the form of a letter from Mr Collins to Mr Bennet. On receiving it, Mr Bennet had promptly called Mrs Bennet to the study.

"There is something here, you need to attend to, Mrs Bennet," said the squire, proffering the missive.

"Well, what is it, Mr Bennet?" demanded Fanny.

"A matter of a delicate nature, Mrs Bennet," replied her husband. "Read it for yourself."

Quite bemused by her husband's secrecy, Fanny took the letter to the window and squinted at it, having been so vain as to put off purchase any spectacles until they were absolutely necessary.

Finally she acquainted herself with its contents. "But, Mr Bennet, this is terrible! How is there to be an heir to Longbourn? What if Mr Collins should die?"

Familiar with this line of reasoning, Mr Bennet was not affronted by his wife's speculations on the entail. "Clearly you did not instruct your daughter properly," he returned curtly.

"But Mr Bennet, she is your daughter too! And I gave her the same talk as Jane! And there has been no difficulty there! What is to be done?"

"Clearly, you will have to visit your daughter and set all to rights," said Mr Bennet, picking up his next piece of correspondence and breaking the seal.

"Go to Kent!" exclaimed Mrs Bennet. "I cannot go to Kent! You know what a poor traveller I am. The dust! My nerves! It is out of the question! You will have to go!"

"Mrs Bennet," replied her husband. "Write to Mrs Gardiner if you must or arrange for Jane to go. This is strictly women's business."

"I don't see how it is strictly women's business when Mr Collins wrote to you!" retorted Fanny.

Mrs Bennet broke out in lamentations but was soon ejected from the study. There was nothing for it but to break into a full-blown fit of hysterics, which she promptly did, thus acquainting the entire household with the nature of the problem.

When Bingley and Jane arrived for one of their regular visits not an hour later, they were greeted at the curricle by Lydia and Kitty, agog with the news.

"Jane!" cried Lydia. "Such a kerfuffle* we have had here! Mr Collins has written to Papa, claiming Mary will not be a wife to him! Mama is beside herself!"

Jane looked at Bingley in alarm. "Are you saying she wishes to be divorced from him or live separately?"

"No!" crowed Kitty, eager to get a word in. "She will not share a bed with him!"

The Bingleys hurried inside to hear the details from Mrs Bennet herself, scarcely able to credit that Lydia and Kitty were telling the truth. But so it turned out to be. After rereading the letter, Jane sat down heavily beside her mother while Mr Bingley dutifully plied Mrs Bennet with salts.

"Oh, my dear!" said Mrs Bennet, recovering herself momentarily to clutch Jane's hand. "Will you go? You know I cannot sustain travelling any distance! Perhaps you could meet Mrs Gardiner in London and go down together to set things right! Oh! What will become of Longbourn if you do not? All my trouble put to waste! What can Mary be thinking?"

Jane speedily assured her mother she would attend to it, with Bingley agreeing to provide every assistance.

The master of Netherfield had cause to regret his ready acquiescence on returning home, however. Immediately seeing where her own duty lay, Mrs Nicholls promptly apprised him that his wife was in no condition to travel.

The news was cause of simultaneous joy and embarrassment for Bingley. But once Jane explained the situation—that she had been holding off telling him lest it come to nothing, it was joy that prevailed. Between solicitude for his wife and pride in his own achievement there was not much sense to be got out of Bingley for the next hour. But when he did come back down to earth, he was resolute in his decision that Jane was not to risk her own health or the child's by embarking on a long journey.

It was Bingley's suggestion that Jane should write to Mrs Gardiner in London, offering his escort should she be able to undertake the trip. Jane could not be entirely comfortable with this, for Mrs Gardiner was very busy with three children of her own.

"Let me write to Lizzy first, Charles. She seems to be the most appropriate one to ask."

"But Jane," protested Bingley, "you cannot have thought this through! Lizzy is unmarried and can hardly be called on to give that sort of advice."

"Well, perhaps it is not advice that is required, Charles. After all, Mama gave the same talk to Mary as she gave to me. Perhaps a little sisterly support is all that is required."

Bingley acknowledged that it might be so, but was privately convinced this was a hugely optimistic view of the affair. Nonetheless, having no better idea himself, he encouraged Jane to write to Elizabeth and went so far as to offer to convey the letter to London himself.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

kerfuffle—a commotion or fuss; early 19th century: perhaps from Scots curfuffle (probably from Scottish Gaelic car 'twist, bend' + imitative Scots fuffle 'to disorder'), or related to Irish cior thual 'confusion, disorder'.


	24. Mary, Mary quite contrary

**Thanks** ** _beaty_** **, for your corrections. I've fixed your issue in chapter 21 and revised according to** ** _PearlBlue5._**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 23 were:**

 **"Awakening" by _Kaohing_ ,**

 **"The Blind Shall Lead the Blind" by _nanciellen_ ,**

 **"Virgin Mary" by _mariantoinette1_ ,**

 **"New Perspectives to Old Ideas" or "Sisterly Support" by _FatPatricia515_ ,**

 **"The Talk, Take Two" by _ilex_ - _ferox_ ,**

 **"Heir Raising Question" by _JupiterAnne_ ,**

 **"Educational hits" or "Callings and Confessions" by _beaty_ ,**

 **"Unknowledge" by . _bSepulvedaM_.**

 **Great pun, _JupiterAnne_. Some of the titles will probably be more apt for the next chapter. Similarly I liked a suggestion for chapter 22 for chapter 23: "The mirror crack'd" by _suddenlysingle_. So I think I will go with that.**

* * *

 **Chapter 24 Mary, Mary, quite contrary**

With the help of Bingley as messenger, the matter was soon settled—or so Elizabeth thought. Mrs Gardiner had readily acquiesced to accompany her niece to Kent, confident that Nurse and her husband could hold the fort in her absence. Her aunt was to stay only a short time—as long as it took for the matter to be resolved—but Lizzy was to stay a full month with her sister. They were to go down in Elizabeth's carriage, attended by a groom and footman, though whether the servants and horses could be accommodated at Hunsford parsonage or would have to be sent back to London was anyone's guess. Elizabeth only hoped there would be enough room for her maid at the parsonage, or she would also have to be sent back with the carriage.

Her aunt Sempronia regretted her going but praised her niece for her efforts on her sister's behalf. She rose early to take coffee with Lizzy before her departure, relating a few anecdotes of Lady Catherine, which formed the basis of her opinion that she was a dragon. As to the truth of these stories, Lady Mickleham could not swear. Despite the friendship between the baron and Sir Lewis de Bourgh, she and Lady Catherine were only nodding acquaintances. Sir Lewis had kept a townhouse closer to the City, but had purchased an estate in Kent where his grand wife had resided. Freddy arrived just in time to see his cousin off, preceding Bingley to the door by only a matter of minutes.

But when Elizabeth arrived at Gracechurch St with Bingley just after sunrise, so that the travellers might depart London before it got too crowded and busy, their plans were completely upset. One of Mrs Gardiner's boys, who had been feeling a little unwell on the previous day, was confirmed in the chicken pox. Mrs Gardiner could not leave her children.

After discussing their options, Bingley, who had intended merely to escort the ladies as far as the outskirts of London, volunteered to accompany Lizzy all the way to Hunsford—a gallantry that received hearty thanks from both ladies. Leaving Mr Bingley temporarily in the parlour with some coffee, Mrs Gardiner withdrew with Lizzy to the hall for a hasty conference.

"Oh, Lizzy!" said Mrs Gardiner. "I'm so sorry to do this to you. Such a charge!"

"No matter, Aunt! It cannot be helped! I would not ask you to come away when your son is sick!"

"Jemmy only has a few spots at the moment, but I cannot rely on it remaining so. I am fairly sure it is the chicken pox, for he has been vaccinated against the smallpox*. The doctor assured me he has seen a few cases of chicken pox this week, and that the rash is quite different. It is generally not a serious disease but there can be complications. One even occasionally hears of a child dying!"

"Oh, Aunt!" said Lizzy, squeezing her aunt's hand. "I'm sure it will not be so bad, with you to look after him. Should the other two boys be sent to Longbourn for the duration?"

"No, Lizzy. If they do not have it already, it is better that they do so—it is a horrible disease to get as an adult. My aunt was afflicted as a young lady, and even had pox on her eyes, which was most painful!

"But I must stick to the point, Lizzy, as we have not much time," Mrs Gardiner reminded herself. "I know not what to say to you. Your mother and I talked equally frankly with Mary as Jane, so I do not think it is a question of ignorance, but..."

Lizzy blushed. "Do not worry, Aunt. You need not go further. I am already aware of the basic mechanics of marital duties..."

Mrs Gardiner gave a sigh of relief. "Then Jane took you into her confidence?"

Lizzy merely nodded. The truth was Jane had been very discreet. Lizzy did not like to say how much more general was her education—from stories passed on by Charlotte from her brothers, whispered gossip exchanged by her mother and her aunt Phillips, even bawdy comments let loose by the militia officers when they thought they were out of earshot.

"I fear," said Mrs Gardiner, lowering her voice for no apparent reason, "it may be that Mr Collins lacks Mr Bingley's address. He seems rather a silly person, always prosing on about his patroness. Perhaps he has been neglectful in wooing Mary properly?"

"Quite likely," replied Lizzy, rolling her eyes. "Nonetheless, I will assess the situation when I get there and write if I need further advice."

"Good girl! And remember, if things should be too awkward, I shall be able to join you in two or three weeks, once the boys have sufficiently recovered."

Thus it was agreed. Elizabeth and Bingley went off before they should lose the advantage of the less crowded streets.

The journey was uneventful. They changed the carriage horses at Bromley, sending the baron's horses back to London with the second groom. Thus far, Elizabeth had spent the best part of the journey admiring the passing countryside. But as Mr Bingley mounted for the second leg, it occurred to her that she had been watching him also. He did not sit his horse as well as Mr Darcy. Indeed, Bingley had the air of someone who rode a horse from exigency rather than pleasure.

The turnoff to Hunsford was well signposted. Lizzy began scanning her surroundings with interest after they turned into the lane in the early afternoon. The road was bounded on one side by a great hedge and Lizzy's suspicion that the land beyond was Rosings Park was confirmed when they passed a grand wrought-iron gate flanked by stone columns. The parsonage lay not a mile further, just past the village.

On arriving at their destination, they were greeted by Mary, who emerged alone from a very pretty but modest cottage set on the periphery of the enormous and beautiful park.

After Lizzy embraced her sister warmly, Mary acknowledged Mr Bingley with a curt nod and returned with:

"Where is Aunt Gardiner?"

"She was unable to come," explained Lizzy. "Jemmy has come down with the chicken pox. Mr Bingley was kind enough to escort me all the way."

Bingley punctuated this information by touching his hat with a smile and a bow.

"But I was relying on her to talk to Mr Collins," said Mary officiously.

Lizzy was extremely conscious of the servants standing around.

"Well, we can talk further over tea," she said to her sister while acknowledging Mr Bingley with a slightly fraught glance. "But I must first determine what to do with my carriage. I gather there is no carriage house attached to the parsonage?"

"No, your carriage will have to be kept at the inn. Are those post horses or your own?"

Lizzy looked at the poor scrawny creatures with dull coats and wondered it was not shockingly obvious.

"Posting horses—the groom will take them back to Bromley. Is the inn at Hunsford a posting house?"

"No," replied Mary, "but they have room for a carriage in the yard and will likely welcome the custom."

"I will attend to it," offered Bingley, sensing the sisters could do with some time alone.

Upon enquiring the way, Bingley remounted and continued along the lane towards some smoke issuing from behind the trees.

After Lizzy's trunks were set down, the coachman and groom set off after Bingley. The footman and a slight maid from the parsonage handled the luggage under the supervision of Madeleine.

Following Mary into a sitting room, Lizzy found a mirror to remove her bonnet. After setting the hat aside, she surveyed the room with interest, finding it clean and comfortable but a little faded and old-fashioned.

"Well!" said Lizzy. "This room has a reasonable prospect of the back garden, but I am surprised you do not sit on the other side of the house, which looks onto that magnificent park."

Having made herself comfortable, Mary took up some needlework, which somewhat surprised Lizzy, for her sister had never been an avid needlewoman, always preferring to read and make extracts at Longbourn.

"Mr Collins likes to compose his sermons there," said Mary without looking up, "so that he can watch for Lady Catherine or Miss de Bourgh, who often pass as they drive out in the morning."

"So they keep country hours at Rosings?" asked Elizabeth, walking to the window to better view the garden.

"Miss de Bourgh generally passes by around eleven o'clock. But Lady Catherine might arrive at any hour. She is most diligent in overseeing her estate and the village. Sometimes she comes in to give her opinion on some household matter or check I have carried out her past advice. I have assured her repeatedly that I have been well educated on running a household, but she seems not able to take a hint."

"Well," said Lizzy, sensing shoals and immediately steering to avoid them. "I expect she is solicitous that you should be settling in and are comfortable at the parsonage."

"I do not see how I can possibly be so, when Lady Catherine insists I need only a single servant!" bridled Mary. "And such a girl!—who was not deemed adequate as a kitchen maid at the manor house! Last week Lady Catherine even ordered that the leg of mutton I had purchased be sent back to the butcher in Hunsford for a smaller cut!"

Elizabeth immediately felt sorry that her sister should have to put up with such officious interference from Lady Catherine but hesitated to sympathise lest she magnify the trouble.

"And where is Mr Collins this morning? Visiting the sick?"

"No, he is overseeing the planting of some reeds in Lady Catherine's ornamental lake."

Lizzy raised her eyebrows at this. "Does not Lady Catherine have some bailiff or steward to attend to that?"

"Mr Guppy is busy with the reconstruction of a bridge," replied Mary.

"Oh!" said Elizabeth. It appeared the rector of Hunsford must attend to more than the spiritual needs of the members of his parish. Indeed, it seemed he had to be rather diverse in his talents. "Well, I am here to provide sisterly support for as long as you like, should you need to discuss anything. And if the problem is beyond my remit, aunt Gardiner has promised to come down just as soon as our nephews have recovered. Jane would have come, but Mr Bingley objected when he discovered she was in a delicate condition. Do not give him your congratulations yet. It is early days, and not even Mama has been apprised lest there be a disappointment. But I thought you should be aware that Jane was most eager to visit you, had she been able."

"Oh!" said Mary, clearly astonished that her eldest sister had been so busy.

"But right now," continued Lizzy, "I expect we should do something to fortify Mr Bingley so that he might not fall fainting from his horse when returning to Netherfield. Is there some cold meat?"

"No," said Mary pointedly. "Lady Catherine sent the mutton back to the butcher, remember? I can manage some cress sandwiches and tea."

* * *

Of course, Lizzy could not bear that Mr Bingley be served with such a light meal before his departure. After summoning her footman to purchase some cooked meat and a tankard of ale at the inn in the village, Lizzy repaired with Mary to the garden to see what might be put together in the way of a salad. Betsy—for that was the name of Mary's servant—was instructed to boil some eggs while the ladies foraged, attended by Madeleine.

The result was respectable and Mr Bingley went off well fortified, keen to return to Jane.

As soon as she and Mary were alone, Lizzy made a second attempt to gain her sister's confidence. But Mary took up her needlework once more, and after chatting inconsequentially about Mary's new life in Hunsford, Lizzy was still in the dark about her sister's marital difficulties when some heavy footsteps on the path through the garden announced the arrival of Mr Collins via the back door.

The ladies went into the hall to meet him. They encountered the clergyman by the scullery, being divested of his muddy boots by Betsy.

"I have come by the back door, Mrs Collins," he explained, "because my boots are a little sullied. Although a gentlemen should in general enter his abode from the front, I feel Lady Catherine would agree with me on this occasion that the carpets should be my first consideration."

Elizabeth looked at him in astonishment, wondering if he could be joking. But a hasty review of what she knew of her cousin made her think this unlikely. She looked at Mary for her reaction.

"A good wash seems to be indicated, Mr Collins," said Mary tartly.

"Indeed! Please clean them, Betsy," said Mr Collins to the maid, still holding one boot. "Though with a cloth, mind!" he added hastily. "Leather should not be put in water!"

The maid nodded dumbly and carried the boots off, whereupon Mr Collins padded forward in his stockings to make a clumsy bow.

"Welcome, Miss Elizabeth, to our humble abode. On the basis of your father's letter, I was expecting only your elder sister and your aunt! I am so glad you chose to visit also! Lady Catherine will be pleased! I hope you will not find it too cosy after Mickleham House! But I fancy we can supply you with all the basic human comforts, as prescribed by the scriptures."

"Save one*," murmured Mary beside Lizzy's shoulder.

Glancing at her sister, Lizzy was aware of a strange tension, almost animosity, emanating from her officious but generally placid sister. Her lips parted in surprise.

"Have your aunt and sister retired upstairs after the long journey, Miss Elizabeth?" enquired Mr Collins.

"Ah, no!" replied Lizzy, wrenching herself from trying to parse these mysterious interactions. "I regret that neither was able to come in the end. Jane is indisposed and aunt Gardiner discovered only this morning that one of her boys has come down with the chicken pox."

"Oh dear!" cried Mr Collins. "How dreadful! I, myself, have a very strong constitution and have never succumbed—though all the other children in my village were afflicted! How fortunate that your aunt did not inadvertently bring the disease here, lest my dear wife should succumb!"

"Mary and I both had the chicken pox when we were young," replied Lizzy.

"Oh!" said Mr Collins, taking a step backwards and squinting at both ladies. "One would not know it to look at either of you. Your skin looks quite smooth."

"I believe our mother and aunt Philips nursed us most carefully," replied Lizzy, suppressing a smile. _What a ridiculous man her cousin was!_

"Lizzy and I ate earlier with Mr Bingley," said Mary to her husband, "but if you would like a nuncheon, I can have it on the table presently*."

This suggestion was met with approbation.

After discovering Mr Bingley had already gone off, as it had not been in his original plans to go as far as Kent, Mr Collins resigned himself to eat alone in the company of the ladies. But his equanimity was disturbed when the cold meat was set on the table, for he knew that the cut recommended by Lady Catherine was exhausted.

"My dear, I do hope that you have not purchased more meat, against Lady Catherine's advice?"

Mary looked at Lizzy in appeal, her lips thinned.

"Some more cooked meat was procured from the inn for Mr Bingley," explained Lizzy. "Lady Catherine could not have anticipated his arrival."

Mr Collins nodded sagely and quickly finished his roast beef sandwiches. Possibly he feared Lady Catherine might arrive to take them away.

It transpired that Mr Collins had planned to go to Rosings that afternoon, to report on the progress of Lady Catherine's reeds. Before going, he insisted on giving Lizzy a tour of the house and grounds. Lizzy had done no more than acquaint herself with the location of the downstairs chamberpot and would have appreciated a rest after her journey, but she dutifully followed Mr Collins around as he explained the minutiae of every improvement he had made to the house, many of them on the advice of Lady Catherine. There were shelves in a cupboard of her bedchamber, the rearrangement of a table in the hall, even a drugget* in the upstairs hall, to prevent the sound of footsteps penetrating downstairs. Lizzy was having difficulty in not yawning.

Nonetheless, she was thankfully spared after forty minutes of this tour by Mr Collins' need to attend his patroness. Despite her drowsiness, Lizzy would have gladly adjourned with her sister to the sitting room, had not Mary indicated she had become accustomed to a nap in the early afternoon. Thus they repaired to their respective bedchambers to rest, which lay almost opposite to each other across the hall. Both rooms were of similar size, not much larger than the beds that occupied them, but cosy rather than cramped. Mary's room faced east, which suited her both as an early riser and for her afternoon nap. Mr Collins, Mary informed Lizzy, occupied the large master suite on the northern end of the cottage.

Lizzy promptly fell asleep and was woken only by the afternoon sun penetrating her window, her tummy rumbling. She rang her bell for her maid and was informed by Madeleine that Mr Collins had not yet returned from the manor house but that Mary awaited her downstairs. She found her sister stitching her sampler once more in her sitting room.

"Is there sufficient meat for dinner?" asked Lizzy, who was keen not to be served cress sandwiches. "Should we repair to the kitchen to confer on dinner with Betsy?"

"There is no need," replied Mary. "Lady Catherine has invited us to dinner. A footman came down from the great house half an hour ago."

"Is this a common occurrence?" asked Lizzy.

"We have been to the manor house some half dozen times since I first came here," replied Mary. "But Lady Catherine generally invites us on a Sunday after church."

"Well, perhaps she was pleased by Mr Collins' efforts with the reeds," replied Lizzy, not entirely seriously.

They took tea with some pancakes, during which Lizzy was prevented from quizzing Mary on her troubles by constant interruptions by Betsy. Despite the use of a tray, the maid required half a dozen trips to the sitting room to lay out the tea, forgetting this and that until she was reminded of it.

No sooner had Betsy removed the tray than they heard the front door open and Mr Collins burst in upon them.

"Make haste, make haste, my dear! Why are you still sitting about? Lady Catherine's carriage will be here for us at five!"

"Is it about to rain?" asked Mary, getting up to go to the window. "We generally walk."

"No!" said Mr Collins, quite in a flurry. "Lady Catherine has ordered the carriage for Elizabeth! It is four and you are not yet dressed!"

To Mary's assurances that she did not require an hour to tidy herself up, Mr Collins replied that Elizabeth, having her own maid, would surely require longer. It was thus established that Elizabeth was expected 'en grande toilette'. Further enquiries elicited the information that Lady Catherine still sported brocade sacques* and other baroque garb on a daily basis. Before Lizzy could despair that she had left her court dress in London, however, she was relieved to be given Mary's assurances that Lady Catherine's daughter, Miss de Bourgh, wore more fashionable gowns.

Before the carriage could arrive at the door, Madeleine had suitably attired Lizzy in one of her finer gowns. She arrived in the vestibule to find Mary waiting for her in her green wedding dress, complete with the long sleeves.

Lady Catherine's carriage turned out to be a very grand affair drawn by four horses, with much gilt and velvet in its interior. But as the stately vehicle lumbered towards the manor house, Lizzy would gladly have traded it for her more sprightly carriage residing at the inn.

Rosings turned out to be very much in the same manner as the carriage. While Lizzy had become accustomed to grandeur of Mickleham House, Rosings exuded altogether another level of ostentation. Lizzy began to think the anecdotes her aunt Sempronia had related—which spoke of how pompous and terribly high in the in-step Lady Catherine was—were likely true.

Yet everything Elizabeth had heard of Lady Catherine from Mary and Mr Collins, had led her to believe that the grand lady was not gracious. Therefore she was very curious to discover the reason of her invitation to Rosings. The fact that Lizzy was an heiress could not be of interest to Lady Catherine, since she only had a daughter.

When the butler delivered them to a grand salon that would have done credit to a small principality, Lizzy's curiosity was strained almost to breaking point. Inside, on a small dais sat the grand lady herself, attended by what Lizzy at first assumed were two ladies-in-waiting. These turned out to be Miss de Bourgh, a wan creature who in no way resembled her mother, and her companion, Mrs Jenkinson.

"Ah, Mr Collins!" hailed Lady Catherine with an admirable lisp. "You have bwought your cousin!"

After the inevitable introductions were got through, Lady Catherine went straight to the point: "So, Miss Bennet! I hear you inherited your wealth from your godfather?"

And before Lizzy could affirm it was true:

"In general, I do not appwove of money being left outside the immediate family, but given your father's noble connections, on the whole, I can see the mewit in your case."

Lizzy was not sure what to reply to this but it seemed no reply was necessary.

"Your aunt and I are acquaintances of long standing! Indeed Bawon Mickleham and Sir Louis were gweat friends! How goes your cousin Fweddy?"

 _Ah_ , _Freddy!_ thought Elizabeth, as understanding dawned. Here, at last was Lady Catherine's true object of interest! "He is well," replied Elizabeth.

"When I heard," said Lady Catherine, "that a young man had accompanied you to the parsonage this morning, I assumed it was your cousin, as he seemed the most pwoper person to pwovide an escort. But Mr Collins tells me that he was your bwother-in-law, Mr Bingley, who came all the way from Hertfordshire? That seems a little stwange."

"Not at all," replied Elizabeth, rather annoyed by such impertinent questions. "It was originally my sister Jane's intention to visit Mary. But when she was unable to make the trip, her husband pledged his escort anyway."

"And was your cousin Fweddy so busy that he could not escort you?"

Lady Catherine's impertinence seemed to know no bounds! "Yes, he is very busy, your ladyship," replied Elizabeth, seemingly unruffled. "My uncle is not well and he is very dependent on Freddy's superintendence at the bank."

"So your uncle no longer goes in every day to the bank?"

"No, ma'am. He conducts what business he can from Mickleham House through his secretary, but Freddy oversees everything in the City."

This seemed to satisfy Lady Catherine, who nodded in acquiescence. "Well, if you go back on a Sunday, Fweddy should have time to escort you. If he comes down on a Sunday morning, I can arrange luncheon here at the manor house for both of you, pwior to your departure. And if he comes early, you both may sit in the de Bourgh pew for the eleven o'clock service."

Lizzy stole a glance at Mr Collins to see if he was shocked by his patroness's promotion of Sunday travel, but he was nodding happily to her every word.

"The bawon and Sir Lewis were gweat friends," expatiated Lady Catherine. "I should like to see his boy now he is gwown. Indeed, he and Anne are much the same age! They might have played together as children if Anne's health had allowed us to visit Sir Lewis in London."

The butler arrived to announce dinner was on the table. Lady Catherine arose to demand Mr Collins' escort, insisting that her daughter take Elizabeth's arm. Thus Mary was left to trail behind with Mrs Jenkinson.

The dining room was something to behold, with a table that glittered with gold plate, girandoles and a dinner service that looked ugly enough to be Sèvres.

They were seated much as they had walked in, with Lady Catherine at the head of the table and Mr Collins on her right. Lizzy had expected Miss de Bourgh to sit on her mother's left, but she was solicited for the place. Miss Anne was sat to her left. When Mary would have sat next to her husband, Lady Catherine adjured her for neglecting protocol. Mrs Jenkinson was instructed to take the spot. That left Mary to sit alone near the bottom of the table. She quickly took the place next to Miss de Bourgh rather than suffer the humiliation of sitting lower than Mrs Jenkinson.

Soup was served but ere Lady Catherine could dip her spoon in the broth, a carriage of at least four horses was heard to pull up beneath the porte–cochère. Lady Catherine put down her spoon and instructed her butler to investigate.

Their soup was not left to cool too long. A single set of boots was heard to run up the marble steps. Into the dining room, in a swirl of greatcoat, strode Mr Darcy.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

vaccinated against the the smallpox—smallpox was a significant cause of deaths in the 18th century, estimated to be between 6-10% of the population in London. Deaths dropped dramatically after 1800, partly because of a build-up of immunity among survivors, limiting epidemics, but also to the program of inoculation with smallpox scabs and later vaccination with the cowpox. Davenport et al 2011 Economic History Review, 64, 4 pp. 1289–1314

Save one—except for one, from the French 'sauf'.

nuncheon—a light midmorning or midafternoon snack consisting typically of bread, cheese, and beer, archaic

presently—soon

drugget—coarse woven fabric used to make floor coverings, often made up like runners laid over more expensive carpet. Mid 16th century: from French droguet, from drogue in the sense 'poor-quality article'.

sacque—a sack-backed gown or 'robe á la française'

porte–cochère—a covered carriageway


	25. Enter the dragon lady

**To the person who complained about the M rating for this story: my stories are not porn, they are romances with natural conclusions. Some writers start such M stories with a lower rating so that they are visible to casual readers and switch them up before chapters with sex scenes. I don't wish to draw anyone in who isn't fine with reading an M-rated chapter.**

 **Yes, thanks, _Windchimed_. I think I originally meant to write 'in good health', and thank you for spotting those continuity errors, _ilex_ - _ferox_.**

 **Funniest autocomplete of the week—Lady Catherine was corrected to atherosclerosis.**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 24 were:**

 **'Summoned to the Presence' or 'Principalities and Powers' by _ilex_ - _ferox_ ,**

 **"For want of a leg of Mutton" by _FatPatricia515_ ,**

 **"Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?" by _nanciellen_ ,**

 **"Officious Interference", "Fed Up", "Ain't no sunshine when she's gone", "You really got a hold on me", "I don't care about anything else", "But being with you, being with you",** **"I've been holding out so long", "I've been sleeping all alone", "Lord I miss you" by _suddenlysingle_ ,**

 **"Reeding the Dragon's advice", "In the Dragon's lair",** **"Arrival of the White Knight", "Gilded cage" by guest,**

 **"Maryment", "Mary, Mary, quite contrary" by _beaty_ ,**

 **"Dinner for seven" by _nessy22_**

 **Oh, some many good ones! I was torn between cleverness of the double meaning in 'Fed up' by _suddenlysingle_ and "Mary, Mary, quite contrary" by _beaty._** **It was a close call, but I do so like nursery rhymes.**

* * *

 **Chapter** **25** **Enter the dragon lady**

Darcy came to a sudden halt just inside the dining room. Elizabeth could have sworn she saw him blush, but perhaps it was just a trick of the candlelight.

"Darcy! Is aught amiss?" cried Lady Catherine.

Darcy hesitated a moment before pulling himself to his full height. "I beg your pardon, Aunt. I did not realise you were entertaining..."

"Is my bwother well? Do you bwing news of him?" prompted Lady Catherine.

"Forgive me, Aunt. The earl is well. All is well," he said emphatically. "I merely journeyed to Rosings to check on the bridge, among other things. I was delayed near Lambeth when one of my horses threw a shoe. Knowing you would be at dinner, I decided to come straight up in all my dirt. I beg your pardon. My man is organising my trunks. I can return to the dining room in twenty minutes in knee breeches."

"Do not wowy," said Lady Catherine graciously, throwing a triumphant look at her daughter. "The soup is on the table."

Darcy allowed a footman to divest him of his greatcoat, then withdrew to a corner to wash his hands in a basin. In the meantime, Lady Catherine's pointed looks at Mr Collins made the clergyman aware that he must give up his place at table. But instead of moving to the next vacant seat beyond Mrs Jenkinson, Mr Collins in turn stared pointedly at her until she shuffled along.

Watching these comical proceedings, Elizabeth wondered if she too might be asked to change her position at table, for she had remembered that Lady Catherine had plans for Mr Darcy and her daughter. But no such request was made. Finally Mr Darcy seated himself opposite her.

"Miss Bennet," said Lady Catherine, "this is my nephew, Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley. Fitzwilliam, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet, the sister-in-law of Mr Collins."

Elizabeth smiled to herself. Longbourn and her grand relations in Piccadilly had not been mentioned.

"Miss Elizabeth and I are acquainted," said Darcy, picking up his spoon.

Lady Catherine turned her head to look at him narrowly.

"She and Georgie are both pupils of Signor Pastroni," said Darcy smoothly.

Lady Catherine raised an eyebrow at Elizabeth. "So you are pwoficient at the pianoforte?"

Elizabeth would like to have glared at Darcy for putting her on the spot, but she dared not meet his eye, lest she further provoke Lady Catherine's jealousy.

"I fear Signor Pastroni took me on as some type of challenge," said Elizabeth. "I am largely self-taught and my fingering is atrocious. He believes he can make something of me if I study to correct my deficits."

"Indeed?" said Lady Catherine. "Well, you must let us judge for ourselves after dinner!"

Lady Catherine then embarked on an almost private conversation with Darcy, enquiring for news of all their relatives and proceeding to estate matters, but interlarding these mundane topics with constant reference to her daughter. 'Anne was just saying...', 'Anne believes...' and 'Anne is of the opinion...' frequently issued from her lips, though her daughter chose not to elaborate and her presence was hardly acknowledged.

Keenly observing Darcy's tête-à-tête with his aunt, Lizzy struggled to detect any interest for his cousin on his part. Yet there was none of the haughty disdain she knew he was capable of either. Earlier, Lizzy had been inclined to think that Miss Bentham had been wrong about Lady Catherine's pursuit of Darcy for her daughter, based on her enquiries about Freddy, but it rather seemed the grand lady was pursuing several options.

Darcy answered all of his aunt's questions with civility and patience, despite the fact that his repeated attempts to turn the conversation to more general topics were constantly rebuffed. Elizabeth, in her turn, bore the snub well enough, making several remarks on the countryside and weather to Lady Catherine's daughter in an attempt to start a conversation on that side. When Miss de Bourgh's polite but short replies did not engender further conversation, Elizabeth gave it up and fell into quiet reflection.

On the whole, Elizabeth was rather surprised to see Mr Darcy at Rosings. During her last meeting with Georgiana, Georgie had apprised Lizzy of her intention to repair to Richmond during Lizzy's absence—for Signor Pastroni had gone off on a spring concert tour of various watering places such as Bath and Tunbridge Wells. Georgie's decision to go to Richmond had also been partly informed by her brother, who had apprised her he would be too busy with various business to accompany her to the theatre or any other evening function. Yet here he was in Kent! Lizzy could only suppose that he counted the Rosings estate as part of his business commitments.

Disposing of the topic of Mr Darcy, Lizzy's thoughts turned to Mary. Having come such a great distance to her sister's aid, it was annoying that Mary seemed reluctant to confide in her. Nonetheless, Lizzy hoped to gain Mary's confidence after spending more time together. Glancing occasionally at Mr Collins during the course of the meal, Lizzy could not help feel some repugnance towards him. His attention was entirely fixed on the conversation at the head of the table. Though he did not participate, Mr Collins alternately frowned in concentration and nodded sagely in agreement during the discourse, as if his attention mattered—for the speakers seemed entirely oblivious of his existence. For Mary, he spared not a glance.

Elizabeth was heartily glad when the meal was over and they repaired to the drawing room. Although the food had been good and plentiful, more enjoyment could have been had by eating it in solitude than in the presence of such self-involved companions. Mr Darcy and Mr Collins chose not to partake of port, following the ladies immediately.

Lady Catherine sat down directly at the card table with Mr Collins and her daughter. The grand lady clearly expected Darcy to make up the fourth, but he encouraged Mrs Jenkinson to take his place, saying he would be glad of the opportunity to stretch his legs.

Mary settled herself in a fauteuil near the hearth, close enough to observe the card game. Lizzy was about to join her sister when she was petitioned by Lady Catherine to display her skills on the pianoforte.

"You see, I have not forgotten your boast that you are a student of the gweat Pastroni, Miss Bennet!" Lady Catherine said loudly as Mr Collins dealt the cards. "Let us hope you are worthy of your master!"

Rolling her eyes privately at Mary, Lizzy got up and took her place at the instrument.

She decided not to play her favourite Clementi sonatina again, judging that Mr Darcy had heard it often enough. Elizabeth chose instead to play a newer piece she had been working on and almost perfected—a Storace sonata.

Mr Darcy retired to the hearth to warm his coattails. Without her sheet music, Elizabeth played from memory, but she was not so engrossed as to be unaware that Darcy was listening keenly and stole a glance or two in her direction as she played. As for the card players, they seemed hardly to listen at all, so engrossed were they with their play.

Elizabeth acquitted herself well and rose from the piano satisfied with her efforts.

"Is that all?" asked Lady Catherine, looking up from her cards. "I had hoped you would play for at least half an hour."

"Forgive me," replied Elizabeth. "I am a little tired from my journey and would not wish to tax you with an inferior performance."

She saw Darcy smile at this.

"Well, you play much better than your sister," pronounced Lady Catherine, "though you are far from exceeding Georgiana!"

Darcy's smile disappeared.

"Indeed," agreed Elizabeth, rather amused at the grand lady's judicial manner. "I do not cast my ambition so high. Georgie is a very superior player—the best of Signor Pastroni's pupils."

Lady Catherine seemed to be satisfied with this pronouncement and Elizabeth returned to the fireside, receiving a tight smile from Darcy as she approached, which she returned. She felt he was a little embarrassed by his aunt's imperious behaviour. Lizzy was rather surprised to see her sister sewing her sampler once more, which she must have had the forethought to bring in her reticule.

"You come well prepared," Lizzy whispered to her sister as she bent forward to take her seat.

"One might as well make use of the time," said Mary, not looking up.

The conversation thereafter was rather desultory, with the state of card play being the chief topic. Lady Catherine dominated throughout, ably supported by Mr Collins. Mr Darcy, on the other hand, seemed unusually withdrawn, even having to be roused on several occasions from his reverie by demands from his aunt. Lizzy supposed he had had a tiring day. Feeling herself beginning to flag, she answered Lady Catherine's further enquiries on her life in London with economy. This state of affairs continued for the next half-hour until the tea tray was brought in.

Finally, the carriage was announced and Lizzy was relieved from her state of intolerable boredom. Mr Darcy would have accompanied the visitors downstairs but Lady Catherine demanded he take Mr Collins' place at the card table for a final rubber. Complying, he bowed in their general direction as they departed.

Elizabeth's torture was not yet entirely over, however, for Mr Collins plagued her all the way home for her thoughts on Rosings. When it became apparent that short answers would not suffice, she reluctantly embroidered her replies to satisfy him, though she began to throw in the occasional barb and double meaning in her resentment. Of these, he seemed completely oblivious, though Mary turned her head in the darkness to look at Elizabeth after one of them.

In the closeness of the carriage, Elizabeth became aware of a lingering staleness—perhaps the squabs in the carriage needed to be renewed. She lowered the carriage window a fraction to breathe the fresh night air, cool though it was.

On arriving at the parsonage, Betsy sleepily opened the front door, having clearly taken a nap while waiting for their arrival. The occupants of the parsonage parted company at the top of the stairs, each to their own rooms to bed down for the night. Elizabeth was quite tardy in getting to her bed, for Betsy took an interminable time in returning with the pail of hot water Madeleine requested, clearly not used to such demands in the evening. Finally Madeleine went off to the tiny box room at the head of the stairs, which had been allocated as her sleeping quarters.

Although she had brought a novel with her, Elizabeth felt too tired to read. Blowing the candle out, she lay her head on the pillow, trying not to notice that the feathers had become compacted and lumpy. In her uncomfortable state, she lay awake for a full five minutes staring at the moon before her eyelids began to droop, only for them to fly open again at a creak in the hallway.

She was at first annoyed with herself for being so easily disturbed—it was likely just the house settling for the night. But a second noise seemed to confirm someone was creeping along the hall. Lizzy waited with bated breath as she listened. When the knock on the opposite door came, it was quite distinct.

Lizzy froze in horror, realising that Mr Collins was requesting access to Mary's bedchamber, likely on the presumption that Lizzy's advent had 'fixed matters'.

She reminded herself to breathe, all the while willing her cousin to go away. An eternity seemed to pass. Finally she heard what she thought was a small sigh and the footsteps, less disguised, retreated.

Mouthing a small 'thank you, Lord', Lizzy rolled over and fell asleep.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

Aught—anything at all.


	26. Map that leads to you

**Ah, ha! _Gaskellian_. I had forgotten that one! And _The_ _Princess_ _Bride_ is one of my favourite movies! I based Lady Catherine's burr, as _alix33_ puts it, on Rosemary Pike's character Lady Harriet in _Wives_ _and_ _Daughters_.**

 **Yes, I have taken some liberties with the Gardiner children.**

 **Sèvres have made some truly beautiful pieces, but I am not a fan of some of their earlier overdecorated designs with large patches of colour, often teemed with twee pastoral scenes. See chapter 24 of the Pinterest board for _Cinder_ _Lizzy_ for an example. Yes, it's in The Met and no doubt cost a mint, but no thanks. These pieces were designed to look ostentatious and it shows. I also have Pinterest board on European Ceramics, which has a more diverse range of early Sèvres pieces.**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 25:**

 **"Something smells rotten in the county of Kent" by _FatPatricia515_ ,**

 **"Exercise in tediousy" by _vaarin_ ,**

 **"Just grin and bear it" by _justafan2111_ ,**

 **"That Odorous Man" by _lizzieanne16_ ,**

 **"Something is smelling bad to me", "Anne this, Anne that...", "exploring the minefield" or "treading carefully in the Lady Dragon's territory" by _beatrizwolfstark_ ,**

 **"Hostess with the Mostest" by _suddenlysingle_ ,**

 **Knock three times, 2) Knock, knock. . . what a joke 3) Don't come knockin' 4) If you like her so much 5) Cathy's Clown by _TopazHeart_ ,**

 **"Stale mate", "Relations that take my breath away", "Creepy crawler" by guest,**

 **"Musical Chairs" by _Lee3619_ ,**

 **I loved "Something rotten in the county of Kent" by _FatPatricia515_ , and "Stale mate" by guest. I may use them later, for they pre-empt the situation a little. I thought of 'The visitor'—could apply to Lizzy's trip to Rosings and Darcy—but it's a bit lame. I decided to go with 'Enter the dragon lady' based on "treading carefully in the Lady Dragon's territory" by _beatrizwolfstark_.**

* * *

 **Chapter 26** **Map that leads to you**

The next few days were ones of frustration for Elizabeth as she tried to come to grips with Mary's objections to performing her marital duties. After that first night, there had been no more embarrassing nocturnal visits of Mr Collins to Mary's bedchamber door. He clearly understood that Lizzy's arrival had waved no magic wand over the situation. But Elizabeth did feel a modicum of sulky expectation in Mr Collins' manner from then on, which she proceeded to ignore.

That Mary should suffer from some natural prudishness, Elizabeth thought perfectly understandable in a young lady brought up in total ignorance of what those duties might actually entail. Lizzy even began to wonder if her own firm decision to become the favourite spinster aunt of Jane's children might have sprung from a youthful exposure to a little too much information from Charlotte at a critical juncture.

Nonetheless, Mary assured Lizzy that she had married with her eyes open, but added ominously that there were limits to what a new bride should be expected to bear. Frustratingly, Mary refused to elaborate. This, of course, resulted in an inspection of Mr Collins' person and habits by Lizzy.

That Mr Collins was a silly man could not be denied. Nor was there much in his personal appearance to find favour. Mr Collins was not ugly, He was not oafishly tall or distressingly short. He was neither gaunt nor fat, but rather on the round side of trim. Elizabeth knew plain men could be rendered attractive by a nice smile. And indeed, there was nothing frightful about Mr Collins' teeth, which were straight though a trifle yellow. Yet, his smile, when displayed, was more in the nature of a simpering grin. Try as she might, Lizzy was having difficulty finding something attractive about him to point out to Mary.

On the whole, Mr Collins looked rather greasy, and that pretty well summed up his manner also. In this, Elizabeth could definitely find fault. Mr Collins was not boorish or unkind, but he paid way too much attention to his patroness and far too little to his wife. Here at last was an area where Elizabeth felt she could make an improvement.

Elizabeth encountered her cousin one afternoon in his garden, tending to his bee skeps and vegetable patch while Mary was taking her afternoon nap. Mary had taken over tending the flowers and bushes bordering the garden, which had been planted by the previous inhabitants of the parsonage. These largely inedible plants were not of much interest to Mr Collins. Until his wife's arrival, the area had grown increasingly wild and unkempt. Once winter's frosts had thawed, Mary had taken to clipping and cutting it back, with the reluctant help of Betsy who was no gardener. As the spring flowers were just coming into bloom, Elizabeth had the happy notion of picking a bouquet. This she gave to Mr Collins, suggesting lightheartedly that he might like to present it to his wife.

"Whatever for, Cousin Elizabeth?" he asked, quite puzzled. "Is it perhaps your sister's birthday?"

Elizabeth could have rolled her eyes. "No," she replied patiently, "but does a gentleman need a special occasion to give flowers to his wife?"

Mr Collins was clearly challenged by this novel thought. "Well," he replied with a frown, "I suppose it costs me nothing. But one ought not to do it too often, lest the wife become spoilt."

Elizabeth had to be satisfied with small progress. She was pleased to see Mr Collins hand the bouquet to Mary with a bow before dinner. Mary accepted the bunch with a reluctant smile but rolled her eyes later at Elizabeth when they met privately in the hall.

Having exhausted herself trying fruitlessly to extract information from Mary on her problem, Elizabeth decided on a more laid-back approach, one that at least provided her with some rest and recreation. On her third day at the parsonage, she resolved to take a morning constitutional in Rosings Park every day. At Longbourn, she had been in the habit of rambling around the paths surrounding the estate early on long summer days, before the family sat down to breakfast. But those paths had merely been rights of way.* Lizzy had never had such a beautiful park on her doorstep and she was determined to explore it. She was not particularly surprised when Mary declined to join her, even when Lizzy offered to defer her walk till after breakfast so that Mary could supervise Betsy's preparations thereof. Elizabeth had always been more active than Mary.

Thus Lizzy walked out alone, promising to return by nine, which was the time Mr Collins like to have his breakfast on the table. A gate had been let into the stone fence of the park, directly opposite the parsonage, whereby Mr Collins made his daily pilgrimage to the manor house. It was not locked, Mr Collins informed her, for it was merely there to keep the deer that roamed the park confined. He confided that Lady Catherine had no problem with poachers, for she dealt most sternly with them. The last miscreant, Mr Collins told Elizabeth, had been transported.*

Letting herself through the gate, Elizabeth turned right off the main path that headed to the manor house to take a less-travelled way that Mr Collins had told her led to the lake. She had jokingly replied to him that she would inspect his reeds. The path turned out to be a delightful one, not as worn down as the path to the manor house, but showing some evidence of being frequently used in the past. Elizabeth wondered if the former parson or his wife had been a habitué of the route. The borders were clothed in field flowers nestled at the foot of mature trees whose branches arched above. On the whole, it was as pretty a walk as could be wished for.

Finally she came to the lake and what a delightful vista it was!

Lizzy was just scanning the prospect when she noticed someone standing on the slope on the far side of the water, looking in her direction. From his garb, she was fairly sure it was Mr Darcy. A moment later, he raised his arm to hail her and began walking down the hill. The lake stood between them, but thinking it was his intention to meet her, she began to circumnavigate the nearest end, taking her cue from him.

They met somewhere above the nascent reed bed. Mr Darcy was carrying a riding crop, suggesting he had left his horse tied to a tree somewhere.

"Miss Bennet! I was thinking I might encounter you!"

"Is there something wrong? Do you have a message for Mr Collins from Lady Catherine?"

Mr Darcy looked surprised. "No! I just knew you liked walking and thought I might find you in the environs of the lake as it is the most notable beauty spot near the parsonage."

"Are there more?" enquired Elizabeth, looking about from the vantage point of the hill.

"Oh, certainly! Sir Lewis spent a small fortune on altering the grounds to enhance their natural beauty. There are various dells and small waterfalls on this side of the manor house and a marvellous wood on the far side."

"Oh, well, you must tell me more! Mr Collins seemed only to think the lake remarkable."

"Well, I suppose he has not been here that long. His duties probably largely prevent him from wider exploration. The former parson's wife liked to walk the grounds."

"I noticed that the path from the parsonage was once well frequented. She was still fairly active when her husband died?"

"Active? I should think so! She was barely thirty when Mr Bede died. A terrible tragedy!—he was only forty-four. He stuck a digging fork through his foot and died of gangrene a month later. I only discovered the whole of it after his death. He had initially thought the injury not worth mentioning to my aunt. By the time she noticed he was limping, it was too late."

"How terrible! Did they have any children?"

"Just the one boy, still in leading strings.* I arranged a small pension for them when Mrs Bede returned to her parents but she married again, just as my aunt said she would, so perhaps my charity was unnecessary."

"Oh, no! It was very kind of you! How terrible to lose one's father at such a tender age! Though plenty of children lose their mothers to a younger sibling! Still, to effectively lose one's father and the roof over one's head is so sad! I hope the child has a good step-father."

Darcy viewed her tenderly. "I believe the child stayed with his maternal grandparents," he said softly.

"Oh!" was all Elizabeth could manage on the topic.

Some moments of silence passed before she started the conversation again.

"Did you come out to get some exercise?" enquired Elizabeth, eyeing the crop.

Looking slightly embarrassed, Darcy cleared his throat. "I rode down to inspect the reeds that were planted."

Having gone past them to reach their rendezvous, Elizabeth turned to look back at the reeds askance. They now stood side by side, viewing the vista of the lake. "I am afraid they are rather sparse at the moment, but I expect they will fill out."

"Yes," said Darcy. "Aunt thought the gamekeeper's hut was ruining the view from the house."

Elizabeth turned again and discovered she could just see the manor house off through the trees.

"Surely it is too far to be of consequence?" she said.

"My aunt has a spyglass," replied Darcy. "I am only glad I dissuaded her from building a folly to replace the hut. She seems to consider Anne's fortune as a coffer she can continually dip into. I expect the reeds will have the added benefit of giving the ducks somewhere to nest and hide."

Lizzy was having difficulty understanding how Sir Lewis's right to embellish his estate was not extended to his wife. But she was also curious how such an uncompromising creature as Lady Catherine appeared might be moved. "And how did you manage to persuade her?"

"I waffled on shamelessly about the picturesque qualities of reeds."

They both laughed at that.

Two starlings skimmed the grass in front of them, reminding Lizzy of the time. She pulled a tiny timepiece from her pocket by its chain and was chagrined to find it was already ten minutes to nine.

"Heavens! Time has flown! I need to be back by nine! Good day, Mr Darcy."

Before he could reply, Elizabeth took several hurried steps down the hill.

"Let me escort you!" called Darcy to her retreating form.

"No time! Do not let me keep you from your horse!" cried Elizabeth with a wave. "But thank you for the offer!"

With that, she picked up her skirts and ran, quickly disappearing into the avenue of trees that shaded the path. Darcy had never seen a lady run so fast. He sighed. At least his morning walk had been partly successful after yesterday's aborted meanderings in the vicinity of the parsonage. He had met Miss Bennet and spent some time with her—way too little, but there was always tomorrow.

Swatting at a clump of long grass with his crop, Darcy went off to make a show of walking around the reed bed. He then inspected the gamekeeper's hut for good measure, just in case he was being watched from the house.

* * *

Mr Collins was not pleased when Elizabeth was a little late for breakfast. But when she explained that she had been detained by Mr Darcy, he completely changed his tune, saying under no circumstances should she have even considered leaving Lady Catherine's nephew precipitately; that she should have accepted his escort home.

The happy couple of the parsonage spent the morning in their respective sanctuaries until lunch, after which Lady Catherine's carriage appeared in the lane and Mr Collins was spirited away on some mission. The grand lady had not got down from her carriage, so the news of Mr Collins' imminent disappearance was conveyed to the ladies in their sitting room by the clergyman himself, before he disappeared in a flurry of black robes.

The afternoon was stormy. Elizabeth spent it with Mary in her sitting room, reading aloud from a novel as Mary sewed. On the whole, it was very cosy by the fire and both ladies were glad of Mr Collins' absence until he arrived back in time for dinner, a little sodden from his mission with his patroness. Lizzy could not help but be aware of a certain mustiness that accompanied him into the room. Perhaps he had been wading through the reeds?

The next day, Elizabeth set out a little earlier on her walk, so that she might go farther before having to return. Mr Collins had been unable to enlighten her on any other features of the park, so she had determined to follow the right path onwards past the lake, to wherever it might lead her before she was obliged to retrace her steps. Having reached the lake, Lizzy was surprised to hear hoofbeats behind her.

Turning, she perceived it was Mr Darcy.

"Miss Bennet! We meet again!" he hailed.

"Good morning, Mr Darcy. Where are you off to today?"

"I am inspecting the fence line," he said, with that now familiar rosy flush that seemed to accompany the beginning of a conversation with her.

He dismounted as he came abreast with her in a fluid motion that hardly seemed to wait for his horse to halt.

"Do not let me disturb you in your duties," said Elizabeth.

"Not at all! You are going my way."

Leading his horse, Darcy proceeded to walk along beside her, fishing for something in his waistcoat pocket with his free hand.

"I brought you this," he said, handing her a folded paper he had extracted.

Puzzled as to what he could be conveying to her—perhaps a message from Miss de Bourgh?—Elizabeth took it in one glove, unsure of the propriety of accepting it at all. She unfolded it to reveal a delightfully rendered map of the estate and its ways, complete with little pictures marking the beauty spots—a duck on water, a bluebell and a butterfly.

"Did you do this yourself?" she exclaimed in delight.

"I did the map," he replied. "But you have my cousin Anne to thank for the little pictures. She saw me working on it before dinner and offered to give it more interest."

"It is delightful! I love the little drake—I almost want to cuddle him! Your cousin is to be congratulated! And I see," she added playfully, thinking she might have given offence in dismissing his efforts, "that Miss Bingley was quite right—your penmanship is admirable!"

They laughed a little at that but Darcy chose not to elaborate on the topic of the superior sisters.

"Where do you suggest I go? Is it too early in the season to appreciate the bluebell dell?"

"It is not in full bloom, but some of the buds have begun to open. I went through there the day before yesterday."

"Well, as it is the nearest, I believe I will try it first, so I may judge how much earlier I will have to get up to venture further."

"That sounds like a wise plan," he said, tapping his crop against his leg.

"Do not let me keep you from your work," she offered, lest he be worried about taking his leave too precipitately.

"Ah, no!" Darcy assured her. "It is not out of my way."

Lizzy begged for news of Georgie. Darcy suitably condensed what he knew from the only letter he had so far received and immediately replied to—because it had given him an excuse not to join his aunt's loo table that evening. Georgie's dutiful letter had mostly consisted of her riding adventures with her aunt, including a long catalog of their respective mounts' points.

Too soon they arrived at the bluebell dell, fresh with the first sprinkling of blooms. Another flush mounted to Darcy's well shaven cheek as he remembered crushing them admirably with Elizabeth, last night in his dreams. He had been fighting off these false memories as they walked along, by hitting his crop against his thigh. Now the sight of the flowers proved too much for him. He could almost feel his breeches creaking in protest.

"Oh, it is lovely!" cried Elizabeth.

A fugitive vision of her tossing herself headlong into the grass plagued him. He almost groaned.

"Are you all right?" she asked, standing quite primly beside him with her gloves clasped together in delight.

"Ah, yes!" he said, thumping his chest with his palm. "I am missing my breakfast! Aunt does not sit down until ten, whereas I typically take it at nine in London."

"Oh, dear!" Elizabeth laughed. "At Longbourn, I always used to escape through the kitchens of a morning, to cadge a little of whatever Hill was cooking."

"I think my aunt's cook would be rather alarmed if I presented myself in the kitchen. The last time I went down there—to suggest my aunt have a range installed—the poor lady nearly had an apoplexy. She didn't want anyone changing her kitchens."

"Did not Sir Lewis have those beautified as well?" teased Elizabeth.

"No," Darcy assured her. "It is positively medieval!"

Darcy dropped his reins to let his horse graze. He and Elizabeth trod a careful path to the other side of the dell, where Elizabeth consulted her watch.

"Well, I timed it about right. I can walk back in a leisurely fashion now," she said.

"If you care to take an alternate route, we can exit the park by a nearby gate and take the lane back through the village."

"Do you have business there?" asked Elizabeth, consulting the map.

"Yes," said Darcy, not quite truthfully. "I will visit the blacksmith to check on the progress of the nails for the bridge."

"Very well."

Darcy's horse snorted in annoyance when Darcy retrieved the reins and gave them a firm tug, the gelding had been rather enjoying the detour to the dell.

As promised, the gate was not far beyond the deviation they had taken to the dell. They were soon through it and into the lane.

"Well, the fence seems in good nick between here and the parsonage," remarked Elizabeth.

"Yes, but with the recent rains, it is always wise to check that none of it has shifted—better to shore it up before it tumbles over."

They continued to talk companionably as they walked the lane, but upon reaching the village, Darcy had the misfortune to encounter the blacksmith outside his shop and was forced to stop to talk with him. Elizabeth bid them both good morning before hurrying back to the parsonage.

Darcy watched her lithe form retreat as he talked nails with the blacksmith.

Mounting his horse afterwards, Darcy set the gelding into a trot, to make breakfast by nine. But upon reaching the house, he encountered an unexpected and not entirely welcome visitor dismounting.

"Heigh, ho!" said the moustachioed gentleman. "Did I not say I would take leave to come with you to Rosings this year?"

* * *

 **Footnotes**

rights of way—paths that traverse private property allowing people to travel on foot between villages.

transported—I had a friend at university whose ancestor was transported to Australia for trying to steal a side of beef from a London market with a wheelbarrow.

leading strings—a toddler restraint sewn into the clothes. See Pinterest board.


	27. Con brio

**I noticed during the week that I hadn't updated the final winning chapter suggestions for Go Down Red Roses on my profile. My apologies. It is fixed now! I have also updated the chapter titles for chapter 21. Let me know if you find any errors.**

 **Thanks for the correction, _alix33_.**

 **Amusing autocomplete of the week—colonel was corrected to coleslaw.**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 26 were:**

 **"Conversations before Breakfast" or "Darcy and the Dell" by _FatPatricia515_ ,**

 **"Ramblings before breakfast" by _Levenez_ ,**

 **"Lay you down on a bed of bluebells" by _justafan2111_ ,**

 **"The picturesque qualities of reeds" by _vaarin_ ,**

 **"Can't take my eyes off you" by _suddenlysingle_ ,**

 **"Map to Success," though I also find, "Nailed It" by _Windchimed_ ,**

 **"A Cupid but blind to love", "The blind Cupid" (Lizzie trying to help Mary and Mr. Collins but cannot see Darcy lying just to be near her), "Head over flowers", "The path of forbidden dreams" by _beatrizwolfstark_ ,**

 **"Field of Dreams" by _lizzieanne16_ ,**

 **"The Excuse" by** **b** - **sepulveda–m,**

 **"Somethings in the air"; "Courtships (in different ways)", "Outmapped" (Mapping Out)" by guest.**

 **Well, many excellent suggestions, as usual. Was "Darcy in the dell" inspired by "Pussy in the dell", _FatPatrica515_?—another favourite Mother Goose rhyme with quite a long history. "Lay you down on a bed of bluebells" by _justafan2111_ made me think of "Purple haze". Finally, "Map to Success," by Windchimed, inspired "Map that leads to you"—not a bad Maroon 5 song. I think I will go with that one. Thanks, _Windchimed_.**

* * *

 **Chapter 27** **Con** **brio**

The ladies of the parsonage found themselves the recipients of another extraordinary invitation to dinner from Lady Catherine in the afternoon. This rather surprised Lizzy, for having pegged Lady Catherine as a managing or scheming woman—she was not sure which—Lizzy had not expected another invitation from the manor house for as long as Mr Darcy was in residence.

The new piece on the board turned out to be yet another visitor.

"Another of Lady Catherine's nephews has arrived at Rosings," Mr Collins informed them, "—Colonel Fitzwilliam. Unfortunately, he is not the heir to the earldom of Matlock, but a _very_ distinguished military gentleman, in the Tenth Hussars. He often acts for the earl in managing the Rosings trust with Mr Darcy."

Initially unexcited by another grand dinner at Rosings, Elizabeth was instantly reconciled to Lady Catherine's invitation. 'The Tenth Hussars', she thought. 'Well! This must be Georgie's pugnacious cousin!'

Elizabeth's suspicions on Lady Catherine's motives for the invitation seemed to be confirmed when they took their places at table that evening. Darcy had been instructed to escort Anne in to dinner while the Colonel had been prompted to take Lizzy's arm. Having snabbled Darcy for Anne, was Lady Catherine trying to arrange an advantageous match for her other nephew?

They were efficiently herded to their places by footmen. All these manoeuvres, expertly called by Lady Catherine, were observed in silent amusement by Elizabeth. Darcy and Anne sat flanking Lady Catherine at the head of the table. The colonel had been directed beside Anne, with Elizabeth beside him. Mary and Mr Collins sat on Darcy's side of the table in improper formation* while Mrs Jenkinson was once more shunted to the bottom of the board beside Mary.

Of course, immediately on entering the parlour, not twenty minutes before, Lizzy's curious mind had first sought out the newcomer, a moustachioed man standing beside Darcy. Despite the slight folly of his facial hair, Colonel Fitzwilliam bore nothing of the extravagant appearance of the viscount Brumby, with his little plaits. Lizzy could well imagine the colonel landing a doubler* on such a fop. The colonel was dressed as a gentleman, but even without his uniform, he retained some military aspect to his bearing, which was stiff and upright. He was not so handsome as Darcy, nor quite as tall, but more thickset. The overall impression was one of power. Nonetheless, his appearance was not displeasing and Elizabeth rather fancied his countenance pleasant. This impression was confirmed when he addressed her as they sat down together at table.

"Well, Miss Bennet, I'm very glad to meet you. Georgie has written of you once or twice. Of course, she wrote only of how nice you are. But I am glad to see you are twice as pretty as you are nice! Some heiresses are such antidotes!"

Used to such flattery by now, Elizabeth was gratified to find she did not even blush. But Lizzy was prevented the tart reply on her lips by Lady Catherine. The grand lady demanded her nephew's opinion on a remark she had directed at Darcy, regarding the new reeds in the lake.

"Indeed!" said the colonel, though Elizabeth was fairly sure he had not been attending his aunt's discourse at all.

This turned out to be a hallmark of the colonel's conversation with his aunt—he largely ignored her. He mostly got away with it by returning a barrage of stock phrases in Lady Catherine's direction whenever pressed—things like "Heavens!", "By Jove!" and "I say!".

By the time the colonel had extracted himself from his aunt's attention and cocked a quizzical eyebrow at Lizzy for a reply to his opening sally, she had composed herself.

"Georgie has spoken of you," said Elizabeth quietly. "I was under the impression you were on the Continent."

"Till a week ago, I was," he replied. "Most of the regiment came back a year ago, but I was seconded to Wellington's staff—the usual thing, the war is over and they have a need for people who can read and write!"

"I thought every officer could read and write!" smiled Elizabeth as she sipped her soup.

"You would be surprised!" said the colonel in an underbreath. "Once the heir is sorted out, I am firmly convinced mothers encourage the sons who can read into the Church and send the ones who can't to the army. Most of 'em were probably dropped on their heads by their nurses!"

Elizabeth smiled and shook her head at his conjecture. "And what of the navy?"

"Oh! That is strictly for the lower gentry!—the ones who can't afford to educate their sons beyond the age of twelve!"

"You are not serious!" exclaimed Elizabeth, trying to gain his measure.

"Not entirely," confirmed the colonel with a smile.

This banter continued throughout dinner. The colonel occasionally delivered a quiet aside to his cousin Anne beside him, which she actually replied to, though Elizabeth could not hear her softly-spoken answers. But for the most part, he paid attention to Elizabeth. Darcy was left to bear the brunt of his aunt's conversation in much the same manner as the last dinner.

When the ladies repaired to the drawing room, by silent agreement, the gentlemen did not join them right away. Maybe Colonel Fitzwilliam had a stronger liking for port than the other two; but Elizabeth could not help thinking that the colonel would make a better drinking companion than Mr Collins any day, so perhaps the decision was not so one-sided.

Thus she found herself sitting down to silver loo with Lady Catherine and her daughter. Lizzy had always avoided the game when she lived at Longbourn, considering herself too poor to lose. Her new riches had given her no improved taste for the game, but she felt obliged to take a place at the card table when pressed, to save Mary the indignity of losing money she could ill afford.

Elizabeth gratefully resigned her place when the gentlemen joined them, only slightly the worse off. Lady Catherine was a rapacious player, but she had fleeced mainly her daughter, who had played extraordinarily badly.

On Lady Catherine's insistence, Mr Collins and Darcy sat down at the card table for another game of whist. Elizabeth was once again entreated by Lady Catherine to play the pianoforte.

"She plays passably well," Lady Catherine informed Colonel Fitzwilliam, as if Elizabeth were not there. "Not as well as Georgiana, but far better than her sister."

Elizabeth saw Mary purse her lips in annoyance. At Longbourn, her sister had practised hard to be considered 'the accomplished one' in the family. Mary had little talent but her repertoire was large. Elizabeth felt her pain in being passed over for herself on the sole basis of Master Pastroni's patronage. But she made her way to the keyboard without demur—nothing could be gained by public sympathy for Mary.

Unlike Mr Darcy on the previous visit, Colonel Fitzwilliam did not choose to warm his coattails by the fire. He gallantly offered to turn the pages for Elizabeth.

They arrived at the keyboard on the far side of the room together.

"The pieces I know well enough for company," confessed Elizabeth in an undertone, "I play from memory."

"No matter," replied the colonel in a soft rumble. "We will put on a good show together!"

He picked up a stack of sheet music from a canterbury*, straightened it like a deck of cards and set it out on the music stand. Elizabeth could see the two pages before her were from completely different pieces.

Having already played the Storace sonata at Rosings, Elizabeth had to fall back on the Clementi sonatina. What followed was a marvellous farce—Elizabeth played while the colonel occasionally leaned over her to flip a sheet of completely unrelated music. She was very conscious of him standing close to her; the scent of him as he leant over her briefly to turn the page, a heady mixture of some cologne and his own earthy aroma—quite distracting!

Fortunately Lizzy knew the sonatina so well that even Colonel Fitzwilliam's charms were not enough to force an error. At the end of the piece, the colonel congratulated her loudly. Elizabeth noticed Darcy look up from his cards to direct a baleful glance at his cousin. Perhaps the colonel's enthusiastic clapping had disturbed his game of whist.

Elizabeth would have returned to her seat by Mary, but she was detained by the colonel.

"Since I have so abominably mixed this sheet music up, perhaps we can help my aunt by sorting it out again?" whispered the colonel.

Elizabeth was tempted to laugh. He had assumed such a humble, begging air that she could not refuse, though she was sure it was a stratagem to detain her on the far side of the room.

They began to arrange the sheets on the closed top of the sounding board. The colonel joked about as he sorted the pages on every other character bar the music—how yellow and dog-eared the paper, the colour of the ink.

"Can you read music at all?" teased Elizabeth.

"Heavens, no! I rely on you to get the order right!"

"Then how do you turn pages ordinarily?"

"Well, I watch the lady's eyes scanning the page. And she generally gives me a little nod at the right time."

Elizabeth giggled at such a mountebank.*

"What are you doing, Wichard?" came Lady Catherine's call.

"Choosing the next piece, Aunt," he replied disingenuously.

"Now you have put me in it!" said Elizabeth with pique.

"Surely you know more than one piece?" chided the colonel.

"Only one other fit for company, and I played that the last time I was here!"

"Play it again!" encouraged the colonel. "Aunt won't even notice."

This turned out to be true. At the end of the sonatina, Lady Catherine applauded politely, even ironically congratulating Elizabeth on her large repertoire.

"You are not Georgiana's equal, Miss Bennet, but it was a cweditable performance, played with as much sensibility as Anne would have dispwayed!—had she ever learnt. Her health, you know, does not permit her to sit upwight for vewy long. Are you going to play another?"

"I believe we have taxed Miss Bennet enough for one night," interposed Darcy.

"Quite wight! Quite wight!" agreed Lady Catherine. "Do come and sit by the fire, Miss Bennet. Perhaps Wichard will entertain us by weading some poetwy."

"Gladly!" answered Colonel Fitzwilliam. "Miss Bennet, would you care to help me choose?"

They made their way to a small bookcase filled with handsomely bound volumes.

"Let me see...," said the colonel, perusing the spines. "Aunt, you did not tell me you are an admirer of that fellow, Byron!"

He looked up to see Anne start guiltily.

"A new poet, Mama!" said Anne, in the first full sentence that Elizabeth had heard issue from her mouth. "I had his latest volume sent down from Hatchard's.*"

"Just so!" revised the colonel hastily. "I have been meaning to see what all the fuss was about!"

He retreated to the fire to flip the pages silently for a good ten minutes before being finally prompted by his aunt for his selection.

"Well, there's something short here," said the colonel, "that is very apt." A gleam of mischief suffused his face. "I am sure that both Darcy and Anne will like it."

Darcy looked steadily at his cousin Richard, with an expression that Elizabeth took for a warning.

Undeterred, the colonel focussed his attention on Elizabeth and declaimed:

" _She_ _walks_ _in_ _beauty_ , _like_ _the_ _night_

 _Of cloudless climes and starry skies;_

 _And all that's best of dark and bright_

 _Meet in her aspect and her eyes:_

 _Thus mellow'd to that tender light_

 _Which heaven to gaudy day denies."_

Elizabeth could not suppress a smile at his boldness.

Lady Catherine had continued to play at cards but she had cocked a ear in her nephew's direction.

"Is that all?" she asked after a short silence at the end.

The colonel bowed.

"Well!" said Lady Catherine. "It is vewy pwetty, But a little short."

"The author went to Harrow," said the colonel. "They favour the concise there.

Lady Catherine seemed to accept this as sufficient explanation.

Colonel Fitzwilliam spent the remainder of the evening, till the carriage was called for, standing by Elizabeth's chair, flirting with her. While Elizabeth was by no means under his spell, his attentions were diverting and helped to while away what could have been a very dreary evening. Mr Darcy, on the other hand, stared tight-lipped at his cards and did not say a word not pertaining to the game.

* * *

Elizabeth got up at first light the next morning and left the parsonage before the sun had peeped over the horizon. Her aim was to get as far as the butterfly meadow marked on the map.

She had almost reached her destination when the sound of hoofbeats alerted her to the fact that she was not alone. Turning, she was not surprised to see Mr Darcy. He too, seemed to be fond of this picturesque part of the estate and the wonderful morning air.

"Miss Bennet!" he called, reining in. "We meet again! What is your destination this morning?"

"The butterfly meadow!"

"Excellent! I was on my way there also! If we are in luck, we may also see some robins!"

He dismounted to walk along beside her, leading his horse. They chatted inconsequentially—of the beauty of the estate, of Georgie—until more hoofbeats could be heard behind them. They both turned to see the colonel advancing on them.

"Is there a problem?" asked Darcy as the colonel's horse skidded to a dramatic halt and snorted.

"No, no!" disclaimed the colonel. "Just out for a morning ride! May I join you? Good morning, Miss Bennet!"

The colonel swung himself out of the saddle and gave his horse an affectionate slap on the withers.

"Well! Where are we off to?" he enquired cheerfully.

Darcy gave his cousin a hard stare.

* * *

The butterfly meadow was soon attained and butterflies there were. But the promised robins did not eventuate. Elizabeth rather thought the colonel's gay chatter was to blame. As amusing as he was, Colonel Fitzwilliam's conversation was more fit for a drawing room. It rather shattered the peace of a clear morning. Darcy stroked a grass blade, brooding, silent.

Feeling time slipping by, Elizabeth was eventually forced to consult her watch.

"Oh, dear! It has been very entertaining, gentlemen! But I must run! I will be late for breakfast!"

"Nonsense!" said the colonel. "We can have you home in a trice! Just get up behind me!"

Elizabeth tried to politely decline but she did not resist much—she knew how punctual Mr Collins was about his meals.

"Just put your foot in the stirrup and hold onto the back of the saddle... Good girl! Well done!"

And before she could do more than start her goodbyes to Mr Darcy, they were off. Elizabeth held on to the colonel's coat for grim life. She was no horsewoman.

She was considerably relieved when she arrived at the parsonage gate to the park, intact. The colonel swung his left leg over his horse's neck to jump down and offered both hands to Elizabeth. Finding it a long way to the ground, she consented to be swung down from the horse by her waist.

It was strange to have such large, firm hands on her body. The material of her dress, the leather of his gloves separating his flesh from hers seemed way too thin. Embarrassed, Elizabeth thanked the colonel as her feet reached terra firma and dashed for the gate.

"Good morning, Miss Elizabeth!" the colonel called after her. "May we visit you at the parsonage this afternoon?"

Elizabeth hesitated, uncertain of the propriety of such a call. "I believe Mr Collins may be engaged with Lady Catherine this afternoon."

"Just so!" said the colonel affably. "Three o'clock then?"

Defeated, Elizabeth smiled and gave a small nod, then fled.

When she arrived, considerably flustered, at the parsonage door, she turned back, intending to wave. But Mr Darcy had caught up with his cousin and the two were in close conference on the other side of the gate. Somewhat thankful, Elizabeth slipped inside.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

improper formation—refers to an arrangement of partners for the contra dance—boy, girl, boy, girl in a line, rather than the usual arrangement of boys in one line facing girls on the other. See Pinterest board.

Doubler—a one-two punch

canterbury—a low cabinet for sheet music. See Pinterest board .

mountebank—a person who engages in deception.

Hatchard's—a famous bookshop that still exists on Piccadilly, London.


	28. Bonfire of the vanities

**Thanks for sharing, _alix33_. My knowledge of card games hardly exists outside Austen and Heyer novels. My great aunts were dedicated euchre players.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 27 were:**

 **"Distractions" by _Kaohing_ ,**

 **"Two cousins and a heiress" or "Just another suitor" by _beatrizwolfstark_ ,**

 **"Colonel in the saddle" by _marieantionette_ ,**

 **"Wicked Wichard Woos an Heiwess" by _suddenlysingle_ ,**

 **"Turnabout is Fairplay" by nanciellen**

 **"Piano Accompaniment' or 'Con Brio' by _ilex_ - _ferox_ ,**

 **"Colonel's delight" by _EmilyWoods_ ,**

 **"A Forward Assault" by guest,**

 **"New Acquaintances",**

 **"Two many cooks spoil the broth" ( "Two" intended ),**

 **"One two many" ( same ) or "One two many suitors",**

" **Three (is) not a happy crowd",**

 **"The danger of not paying her too much attention" ( but long ik... ) by _NotACursedChild_ ,**

 **"Fish or Flesh, Friend or Foe" by _beaty_**

 **I was rather caught by "Turnabout is Fairplay" by _nanciellen_. But decided to go with 'Con Brio' by _ilex_ - _ferox_ , as it extended a theme started with an earlier chapter title.**

* * *

 **Chapter 28** **Bonfire of the vanities**

"Just what do you think you are playing at?" said Darcy shortly, once Elizabeth was safely out of earshot.

"Well, I could ask you the same thing," said the colonel. "I thought we had agreed to come down to Rosings together. So I arrive back from Paris, thinking I had plenty of time to see some old friends in London before we are off, only to have your old footman tell me that you've gone off to Kent already. 'No, no!' I says, thinking he must be senile. 'Darcy and I are not off for a fortnight!' So I rode down to Mother at Richmond, to see if you might be there. Then Georgie tells me that you've gone off on your own. So, what kind of rig are you running?"

"This is an extraordinary visit," said Darcy primly. "I came to check on the progress of the bridge."

"Oh, come now, Darcy! Do you take me for a fool? Mr Efficiency does not make two trips to Kent when he can make one! Georgie was all excitement about you and her friend. She thinks you are about to make a proposal! But Aunt thinks that you are still for Anne. Just how many heiresses do you require? Planning on starting a seraglio?"

Darcy blushed scarlet. "It is true I followed Miss Bennet to Kent, but I am not about to make a proposal. I just wanted to spend more time with her. It is so difficult in London with Georgie and her aunt constantly about..."

"So what are you planning? To set her up as your mistress? She seems a very nice girl to me. I've a fancy to make her an honest offer!"

It had seemed hardly possible for Darcy's face to be suffused with a deeper red, yet it occurred.

"How dare you! My intentions are honourable! I just meant I wished to get to know her better; to establish whether an offer would be welcome. She is young and has just come into her inheritance. She may not wish to marry straight away."

"Oh, come now! You're nearing thirty. Isn't it time you got off the fence and made some lady an offer? Anne is also near thirty and will soon be too old to marry any respectable man who is not already a widower with an heir. Yet Aunt will not contemplate marrying her to anyone else while there is the possibility she can still snabble you!"

"So you were just winding me up? This is all because I have not been able to convince aunt you are an eligible suitor?"

"I must admit I am getting pretty desperate, Darcy. I shall be a half-pay officer within the year by my reckoning, and I do not have a fancy to go back to lodging with either of my parents. Just what are Aunt's objections?"

"I cannot say. She has expressed no more than a lack of enthusiasm. I can only guess..."

"What then?"

"You have no estate. If you marry Anne, you will have to live here and that will seriously incommode Aunt. If Anne marries someone with an estate, it will not be thought strange if she goes to live there, leaving Aunt to continue lording it over Rosings."

"I see," said the colonel soberly. "And the fact my great aunt Jemima has left me Ashdene in her will counts for nothing? I suppose she could go on forever... But Anne and I could live apart for a while, with me citing my military duties as the reason."

"I don't think that will fadge,*" said Darcy apologetically. "As pretty as Ashdene is, it is a far more modest estate than Rosings. It would be thought strange for Anne to choose to leave Rosings to live there."

"I see," said the colonel. "But Pemberley is sufficiently magnificent that her removal to Derbyshire would not be thought strange?"

Darcy nodded in guilty affirmation.

"Damn the old biddy!" expostulated the colonel, so violently that his horse flung up its head, jerking on the reins in his hand.

Finally after working his jaw for a minute, the colonel got his temper under control. "Well, I suppose if at least one of us is to be happy, I should help you woo your heiress, or at least not do anything to distract her... What say you? Shall we both come back at three?"

* * *

Having passed the colonel's intention to call on to Mary, Elizabeth had helped her sister prepare for one or both of the gentlemen to arrive. From Mary's sitting room at the back of the house, Lizzy and Mary heard a carriage draw up at a quarter past three.

"That sounds like Miss de Bourgh's carriage," said Mary in puzzlement.

They both got up to answer the front door. But Betsy, for once, was ahead of them, running down the hall in her hobnail boots. They both sat down again in anticipation.

"I thought you said it would be just Colonel Fitzwilliam and possibly Mr Darcy?" hissed Mary. "The scones that Betsy has made are not dainty enough for Miss de Bourgh! She is used to finer things!"

"Perhaps the gentlemen have just borrowed her carriage?" suggested Lizzy.

But when the visitors were shown into the sitting room, Miss de Bourgh was indeed among their number. She came in on the colonel's arm, looking remarkably cheerful.

Colonel Fitzwilliam proved an entertaining guest. The next hour also demonstrated that Miss de Bourgh was indeed capable of speech in a voice louder than a whisper. She did not say much, and had to be drawn out on several occasions by the colonel, but what she did say showed an intelligent mind. What was perhaps more surprising was Mr Darcy's lack of communication. Lizzy, on several occasions, caught him staring at her. These were not looks of admiration, but rather of distraction. Elizabeth concluded she had probably gained his attention by her laughter or movement. His mind seemed definitely elsewhere.

When he got his watch out an half-hour into the visit to suggest the party take their leave, Lizzy concluded he was bored. But the colonel talked down his cousin's suggestion of an early departure, saying they need not pay attention to such strict town customs when in the country.

The visits repeated themselves almost daily, whenever Lady Catherine was out with Mr Collins. They proved a nice distraction from awkward afternoons with Mary, who continued to refuse to elaborate on her situation. Indeed the visits added considerably to Lizzy's entertainment, supplementing her morning walks, during which she frequently encountered Mr Darcy, out on some estate business. He seemed quite zealous in his care of the estate, which was perfectly understandable—it would, of course, be his, once he married Miss de Bourgh. Lizzy found he talked more easily in the absence of his cousins.

But on the Thursday following the colonel's arrival, the grand lady made plans to visit another living within her gift, and Mary's company was demanded for the benefit of the vicar's sister. Thus Lizzy found herself alone downstairs. Madeleine had woken up with a sore throat and Lizzy had sent her maid back to bed after finishing her toilette. She had found the poor girl still sleeping when she took up a draft of lemon and honey in the late morning. Lizzy might have ordinarily walked out again in such circumstances but the drizzle of the morning had given way to a steady rain. Indeed, it was raining so much that Lizzy deemed it unlikely that Miss de Bourgh would venture out in such a downpour. So she curled up on the settee like a cat, with a book for company.

She had been sitting there for almost an hour when she was surprised by the doorbell. She had not heard a carriage drive up but supposed it might have escaped her notice in the rain. Remembering that Betsy had taken the afternoon off to visit the village, Elizabeth got up to answer the door herself.

She was surprised to find Mr Darcy on the step, his beaver and greatcoat streaming water.

"Mr Darcy!" expostulated Elizabeth. "Is there some emergency?"

A slight frown knit his brows. He did not immediately reply.

Elizabeth realised she was guilty of a gross breach of etiquette. "I beg your pardon. Please come inside."

Pulling his hat from his head and giving it a quick flick that sent a jet of water streaming back outside, Darcy stepped onto the drugget. Unbuttoning his greatcoat, he performed a similar manoeuvre on that; then hooked it, dripping, onto the hall stand.

"My call is merely a social one, Miss Bennet," he said, as he bent to move a pot plant underneath the greatcoat to catch the drips. "Given the weather, my cousins decided to remain at the manor house."

"Oh, dear! Mary has gone out and Betsy has taken advantage of her absence to visit her mother."

"I thought that was likely the case. I am familiar with Betsy's circumstances."

He did not elaborate.

In her mind, Elizabeth was busy marshalling her resources.

"I believe Betsy said she left the kettle on the hob. Would you care for tea?"

"Thank you."

It seemed more proper to entertain Mr Darcy in Mr Collins' parlour in the absence of Mary or other guests, so Elizabeth directed him to make himself comfortable there so that she might attend to it.

"But where is your own maid?"

"I'm afraid she has come down with the head cold Betsy had last week. Do not worry, I am perfectly capable of making a pot of tea," she assured him.

"I do not mind following you to the kitchen."

This seemed quite perverse of him, as the kitchen was not the most salubrious of places. But Elizabeth acknowledged his choice with a nod and headed off down the hall.

She found the kettle just as Becky had related. Using a handy rag, she lifted it onto the chain with both hands.

Darcy darted forward. "Let me..."

But it was done.

"You will ruin your hands working in the kitchen like this," he advised.

"I sincerely doubt it," said Elizabeth. "It is the first time I have hefted that kettle since I arrived here. But I will put on kid gloves to take it off, if it upsets you."

"I will take it off," said Darcy in a tone that brooked no interference.

Elizabeth looked at the hearth speculatively. "I have no idea how long it will take to come to the boil. Do you suppose we should build the fire up?"

"I think so," replied Darcy, and then, "Let me," before she could more than move in the direction of the woodbox.

Elizabeth instead occupied herself with getting down the tea caddy and unlocking it with the chatelaine Mary had left in her possession.

By the time Lizzy had found the cups and saucers and arranged them on a tray, Darcy had built up a veritable bonfire.

"Good grief!" said Darcy, getting up to dust off his hands while he looked around. "This is even more medieval than the kitchens at Rosings! I do not know how my aunt can boast of the shelves she has installed in a closet when the kitchen looks like this!"

"Oh, yes!" laughed Lizzy. "The shelves are in the bedchamber I am lodged in. Most useful, I'm sure, if one does not need to hang gowns! Poor Madeleine has them hanging in her box room!"

He smiled at that.

"But I'm not sure such revolutionary ideas would be any more welcome in this kitchen as they are at Rosings. Betsy had not been able to fathom the spitjack* before I arrived. She was turning it by hand."

"So you helped in the kitchens at Longbourn?" enquired Darcy, a little surprised. He had thought Mrs Bennet very keen on guarding her elevated position on the social ladder.

"Heavens, no! But my mother was forever chasing me out of there when I was young! It seemed the most interesting place in the house. Especially those spinning wheels on the spitjack!"

"I was fascinated by the long clock at the base of the stairs when I was ten and would help the footman adjust the weights every morning."

The conversation continued in this friendly fashion while the kettle was boiled. The pot was warmed—a step Lizzy was sure that Betsy frequently forgot—and Mr Darcy offered to take the tray, replete with biscuits from the bakery in Hunsford, to the table. It was all so comfortable, quite in the pleasant manner of their outings to the theatre.

But once they entered the parlour, Mr Darcy became stiff again, as if possessed by some dark spirit that haunted the parsonage. Lizzy was quite at a loss to understand his change in countenance and even wondered if he had been taken suddenly ill. But she continued to chat gaily as she poured the tea, hoping his discomfiture was only temporary. She had just taken a sip of the brew and lowered her cup to hover over her saucer when he finally spoke.

"Miss Bennet, from the moment I first saw you I felt... something. And the feeling has continued. Please stop my agony and accept my hand in marriage."

Lizzy dropped her cup back onto her saucer with a clatter and stared at him, her mouth agape. She looked down to see she had sloshed tea into her saucer and brought out her handkerchief to deal with the mess, her mind racing. Having mopped up the worst of it, she sat the damp cloth on her bread and butter plate before looking up.

"You are not joking?" she asked uncertainly.

Darcy raised his eyebrows. "I would never joke on such a topic."

"No, I don't suppose you would. But I thought there was some arrangement with your cousin, Miss de Bourgh?"

"I am not inclined to marry my cousin. I sincerely doubt she could bear me an heir."

For reasons that were not immediately apparent, but which she would dwell on at length later, Lizzy blushed.

"But this is extraordinary!" she blurted. "I had no idea you even more than liked me!"

"I find it hard to believe that an intelligent lady like you had not perceived the preference—the attentions I paid you at the theatre..."

"But I thought we were just friends!"

His look of utter disbelief prompted Elizabeth to better explain herself. "Of course, I knew Georgie had hopes in that direction—one can hardly blame her for not wanting a sister-in-law like Caroline—but marriage should not be built on negative design!"

"What do you mean by that?" prompted Darcy, quite perturbed.

"Simply that one should not marry someone merely because one wishes to avoid marrying someone else."

"Are we talking about my cousin Anne or Caroline Bingley? Surely you are not jealous of them?"

"Jealous?" echoed Lizzy in surprise. "How could I be jealous? Surely there is a degree of ownership required, to which I have never pretended. I had no idea you had the least partiality for me!"

Darcy inhaled deeply. "Forgive me! Clearly I have not made my preference as obvious to you as it was to me. I feared this was the case and have now rushed my fence. You have just come into your inheritance, and it is natural you should wish to enjoy yourself and take some time to look about you before making your choice."

"What choice?" asked Elizabeth, considerably shaken by his proposal.

"Of whom you should marry."

Elizabeth bristled. "But perhaps I should choose not to marry at all. Is the one function of a woman to get married? Indeed, I fear I would be sadly letting down my benefactor, Mr Pickering by doing so."

"How so?"

"Mr Pickering wished to marry my aunt Sempronia. He felt her lack of financial independence influenced her decision to break off their engagement in favour of the baron. He wished me to be educated, to be able to choose my own path."

"And so you can! And do! That is the one thing, above and beyond your own attractions, that I find most charming about you—you have not sought me for my money. Your wealth is almost equal to my own. I admit I had my prejudices when I first met your mother! But there is nothing mercenary about you!"

This compliment, couched in comparison to Mrs Bennet, did not have the effect Darcy intended. It both embarrassed Lizzy—for she was painfully aware of this defect in her mother—and raised her hackles, for she was loyal to a fault.

"And what if I should choose not to be married?" she said indignantly. "Mr Pickering was quite specific in declaring that he expected nothing from me in that direction. What if I should choose instead to become a scholar?"

"A scholar?" Darcy echoed. "But what is the point of this education? You cannot go to university. Do you intend to translate books?"

"Books that men have written? Perhaps I should choose to write one myself? I thought you were in favour of a lady improving her mind?"

"To a point. I would not wish to marry a silly or ignorant woman."

"Oh! So the sole point of a lady getting an education is so that she might make interesting conversation at breakfast?"

"No! You are twisting my words!" protested Darcy.

"They don't seem to need much help."

There was an awkward silence.

Darcy felt extremely foolish. His house of cards had come tumbling down. There was an aspect of valuing himself too highly. Here was a lady who did not value him at all. He chastised himself for ignoring his better judgement to follow Richard's advice to make a push.

"Excuse me," he said stiffly as he rose. "I have overstayed my welcome."

"But you haven't finished your tea! Please sit down again."

"No, I think not."

"Please don't be like that...," Elizabeth started in a gentler voice.

But he was gone. In two quick strides, he had reached the door and vanished into the hall.

Something like pride kept Elizabeth from immediately running after him. She had only just resolved that she should not let him leave on such bad terms when she heard the front door close, more forcefully than normal—not exactly a slam, but something approaching it. Running to the window, she saw him press his beaver onto his head, then shrug into his greatcoat in the rain.

She stood at the window watching his form, blurred by the rain on the window panes, retreat to obscurity.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

ON THE FENCE - "undecided, unwilling to take a position, term blossomed in 1828 and was probably in use before Schurz, insisting on political independence, described his position (according to James Blaine) 'as that of a man sitting on a fence, with clean boots, watching carefully which way he may leap to keep out of the mud.'

fadge—To get on well; to cope, to thrive.

1603, John Florio, transl.; Michel de Montaigne, chapter 17, in The Essayes, […], book II, printed at London: By Val[entine] Simmes for Edward Blount […], OCLC 946730821:

I can never fadge well: for I am at such a stay, that except for health and life, there is nothing I will take the paines to fret my selfe about, or will purchase at so high a rate as to trouble my wits for it, or be constrained thereunto. Wiktionary

spitjack—a mechanical, gravity-fed, device for turning a roast in front of a fire. It was wound up like a clock.


	29. Stale mate

**Thanks for your corrections, _alix33_**

 **Yes, some of the footnotes explain words and phrases that are well known in modern times. Sometimes I am checking that the term is not anachronistic. Other times I'm just curious where the term came from. If you don't like the footnotes, don't read them.**

 **Please note: there are no recordings of Regency gentlefolk speaking BBC (Received Pronunciation) English. It is a concept that reached its apogee in the early to mid-twentieth century. Accents were probably more regional in the past before being standardised, firstly by public boarding schools and more far-reachingly by BBC radio. The BBC subsequently back-pedalled, starting in the 1960s, encouraging more diversity, just as Bernard Shaw had originally proposed when BBC radio was first set up. He got outvoted by the very undiverse BBC board.**

 **If I was the son of an earl, who had not attended Eton but was schooled by a private tutor, and grew up in Derbyshire, I'd speak in whatever way I bloody liked. And I'd grow a moustache, just to be different!**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 28 were:**

 **"An Educated Woman" by _FatPatricia515_ ,**

 **"Unfinished business" by _Levenez_ ,**

 **"Out of the dark", "Sudden surprise","All alone" by _LMFG_ ,**

 **"Tea and Proposals" by _NotACursedChild_ ,**

 **"Small Talk, Bad Manners" by _SacredWomanY2K_ ,**

 **"Praise or not, that's the question" by _beatrizwolfstark_ ,**

 **"Lukewarm water for tea", "First should build a fire",** **"Bonfire of the pride" by guest,**

 **"Rushes and Fences" by _MerytonMiss_**

 **"Winding me down", "Positively medieval", "Two for tea" by guest,**

 **Some very good ones there. I think I will go for "Bonfire of the vanities," inspired by guest.**

* * *

 **Chapter 29 Stale mate**

Returning to her seat, Elizabeth stared at her cup, wondering how she could have been so gauche as to cause Mr Darcy to walk out. But as she sat there, dwelling on the immediacy of their rupture, it got worse. Her mind began whirling. What had just happened? Had Mr Darcy really made her an offer?—that aristocratic fellow who had deemed her 'not handsome enough to tempt him' at that Meryton assembly? It seemed hardly possible—something that might have occurred in a dream.

She took a sip of tea, trying to calm herself, then nibbled on one of the delicious little biscuits she had purchased yesterday in preparation from another visit from the Rosings party. It tasted like cardboard.

Like the silk threads she had sorted for Mary, Lizzy began to unravel Mr Darcy's speech—the feelings he claimed to be of such long-standing nature. He had asked her to dance at the Netherfield ball, and she had ascribed it to her fortune. He had tried to warn her about Mr Wickham, and she had detected only rivalry and jealousy.

Mr Darcy had not honoured his dance at Almack's. Granted, Caroline had been involved in that debacle—though Lizzy had thought at the time that an ingenious person, one who wanted to dance with her, would have thwarted Caroline's schemes. Lizzy had assumed he had been relieved to be extracted from an invitation enforced on him by Georgie.

Yet, he had gone on to apologise to her for his neglect at Almack's. Lizzy had thought at the time that he was merely appeasing Georgie and her aunt. But a tiny niggle now occurred to her—what proud man would have stomached making such an apology without good reason?

He had danced with her at the wedding breakfast at Longbourn, but his approach to her there had been couched in terms of a thank you for her companionship of Georgie. Hadn't it? Caroline had not thought so, as evidenced by the affair of the punch...

Mr Darcy had squired Elizabeth to the theatre, admittedly in company, but he could have been enjoying himself at his club! Her aunt had gone so far as to tease her about his attentions, but Lizzy had laughed it off—detecting Georgie's influence at every turn.

All of Lizzy's conclusions had seemed perfectly reasonable at the time. She could not fault her calculus. Could she?

Further doubts crept in. If one was indisposed towards a person, if one thought that person was indisposed towards you, could that not influence that calculus? Lizzy had believed her aunt's position in society had been enough for Mr Darcy to turn a blind eye to the fact that she was a country squire's daughter, with slightly dubious parentage on her mother's side. Through their conversations, she had thought he had begun to value her for her own sake.

She had been so caught up in her own hurt pride and vanity that she had not seen what was before her very eyes! How could she, who deemed herself so acute, not have discerned it? Indeed, her ascription of such ungenerous motives to his every move seemed to reflect more poorly on her character than his.

A pit seemed to open in Lizzy's stomach. And now there had been a rupture. She had shown herself to be a naive fool; an argumentative, ungrateful shrew. Leaning her elbow on the table, Lizzy covered her eyes with one hand.

She remained in that pose for several minutes, running through the catalog of errors, remembering new incidents—things Mr Darcy had done and said—and began to doubt again. He certainly did not gaze at her in that rapt way Mr Bingley mooned at Jane... Perhaps she was not so stupid? Mr Darcy was really so tightly laced up, one could be forgiven for not noticing his attentions...

She looked at the tea things on the table and felt embarrassment—his cup, practically untouched. For some reason, she did not want her sister to know Mr Darcy had been there. Getting up, Lizzy piled the china onto the tray.

Halfway down the hall, she had second thoughts—Mary would notice the activity in the kitchen. Lizzy was fairly sure her sister kept an eagle eye on the level of tea in the caddy, for one thing. She diverted to Mary's sitting room, setting the tray down there. All that was required to make it tea for one was to return the remaining biscuits to the barrel and wash Mr Darcy's cup.

Picking the extraneous items from the tray, Lizzy made her way to the kitchen. She opened the back door to sluice the remaining tea in the cup outside. But she paused.

Holding the teacup in her right hand as he had done, she brought the cup to her lips. His lips would have touched this very place on the china. Did she feel a slight tingle?

Sighing, Lizzy brought the cup down and tossed its contents to the ground. She shut the door again to return to the wash bucket. It was filled with the most disgusting swill. Revolted, she returned to the door and held the cup out in the rain to rinse it, replacing it dry in the cupboard. She put the biscuits back in the barrel and returned the empty plate to the sitting room.

Sitting down on the sofa, Lizzy retrieved her book. But she scanned the same page over and over again while her mind was elsewhere.

Half an hour later, Lizzy heard a carriage draw up. Realising she had slumped into a despondent heap on the sofa, Lizzy drew herself upright and arranged her skirts.

The front door opened. After a pause, she heard Mary's stockinged feet run up the stairs. Puzzled, Lizzy got up. She had not reached the sitting room door before it opened to reveal Mr Collins, a little damp and carrying his buckled shoes. He smelt like he had fallen into a stagnant pond.

"Ah! Cousin Elizabeth! Lady Catherine has need of me at the manor house. I'm afraid the Vicar of Smallbrook has deviated sadly in his preachings, and she wishes me to write several sermons to convey to him as proper templates. It is possible that she might invite me for dinner, for I expect the matter to be quite weighty. Do not hold supper for me."

"Very well," replied Lizzy, wondering why he had not trusted Mary to convey the information.

Mr Collins made to leave, then hesitated. "I'm afraid the journey was a bit much for Mrs Collins... You will go up to your sister?"

"Of course," Elizabeth reassured him.

He was gone from the sitting room in a heartbeat. Lizzy followed slowly in consternation. The celerity with which her sister had mounted the stairs hardly spoke of travel sickness, which Mary was not inclined to anyway.

Elizabeth paused in the doorway of the sitting room while Mr Collins slipped his shoes back on, gathered his umbrella from the stand and disappeared through the front door, giving Lizzy a brief glimpse of the waiting carriage outside.

Ascending the steps, Lizzy found the door to Mary's bedchamber closed. She knocked. When there was no summons, she tested the door and found it was not locked.

Mary was lying on the bed with her back to the door.

"Go away," came a despondent voice from over Mary's shoulder.

Lizzy ignored this request, walking round the end of the bed. Mary was not crying, but staring straight ahead.

Clasping her sister's shoulder, Lizzy sat down beside Mary on the bed. "What happened?"

For a while Mary said nothing. Then her face contorted, "I hate her!" escaped from clenched teeth.

Lizzy squeezed her sister's shoulder and waited.

"She spent the whole time telling me how I should take a leaf from Mrs Shuttergate's book! Maybe a whole chapter! She just would not shut up!"

"Lady Catherine?" queried Elizabeth.

Mary nodded grimly. "Mrs Shuttergate is a low-born lickspittle!" she spat. "She is only more economical than me because she is not used to running a genteel household! Of course, she is fine with one maid! Of course, she does not need red meat every week!"

The shoulder was squeezed again. "You know you should just ignore Lady Catherine," Lizzy said gently. "If you wish to take a page, take it from Colonel Fitzwilliam's book—smile and nod, and then just organise things your own way!"

"You don't understand," seethed Mary. "He constantly checks and enforces the old witch's orders!"

"Mary!" soothed Elizabeth, a little shocked. She had never seen her sister in such a passion. Lizzy rubbed her sister's shoulder in a comfortable way—the way Jane had occasionally soothed Lizzy when she was upset.

Mary wrenched herself away. "I cannot stand it any longer!" she said, flinging herself upright on the bed. "I want to go home!"

"Mary! You can't!" said Lizzy, aghast at the sudden deterioration of events. "Mama would go into hysterics! If you wish to become Mistress of Longbourn, you must stay here, with your husband!"

Mary collapsed on the bed again and, uncharacteristically, began to cry.

Elizabeth felt terribly guilty. Having made no initial progress with Mary's problem, she had been treating her stay at Hunsford like an extended holiday, hoping that Mary would eventually confide in her. She had been flirting with Colonel Fitzwilliam and, yes!—maybe even with Mr Darcy.

Lizzy folded her hands in her lap—too afraid to touch Mary again, lest the gesture unleash any further violent reactions—and looked helplessly around the room. The sampler Mary had been working on was lying on the dressing table. Mary had taken it from the tambour. Elizabeth walked over to it, intending to praise Mary on her precise needlework, for Lizzy had been watching her sister embroider the tiny flowers around the edge for nearly two weeks now. But it was the homily at the centre that caught her eye now, released from the folds of the tambour—'Cleanliness is next to Godliness'.

The penny dropped. The smell in the carriage; the fact that Mr Collins' positively reeked every time he got wet.

"Mary," Lizzy started hesitantly, choosing her words, "does Mr Collins have a problem with his hygiene?"

"Has it taken you that long to work it out?" Mary returned spitefully.

"Forgive me, but as you would not discuss the matter, you have rather left me guessing..."

"Yes!" said Mary. "A thousand times—yes! He took me to his bedchamber on our wedding night! The sheets! He will only let Betsy wash them once a year!"

Elizabeth gaped. "My goodness, they must be rotten!" she exclaimed.

"His nightclothes, he only permits to be washed once every quarter!" continued Mary.

Lizzy almost gagged.

"But that is not the worst of it!" railed Mary. "He refuses to wash his person! He claims that water is injurious to the health—a great source of disease!"

"Well, if you drink it unboiled..." started Lizzy.

"He only wipes himself down with a dry cloth!" said Mary.

Elizabeth grimaced.

"On our wedding night, I slipped from his arms and claimed to have my monthlies!" said Mary, hiccupping. "But when he came to my bedchamber a week later, even my own washed and scented sheets could not hide the stench! I claimed a headache!"

"Oh dear!" commiserated Lizzy.

"I even tried hiding a sachet of lavender in my bed cap when he came to me the third time, but I ended up dry retching into the chamber pot! He thought I had caught some dreadful disease and hurried out!

"I cannot even stand for him to be too close to me in the carriage anymore—all I can smell is that distasteful stench!"

Lizzy took her sister's hand. "And you have suggested you would prefer for him to perform his ablutions before he comes to you?"

"Yes, yes! But he insists that his habits are wholesome!"

"And what of Lady Catherine? Has she never complained of his hygiene?"

"No, I believe she suffers from the asthma and has a diminished sense of smell!"

"Ah!" said Lizzy in understanding.

There did not seem to be much more she could say. The only thing she could think of was to offer Mary a cup of tea. Mary expressed no enthusiasm for it, but nor did she specifically object. There seemed little to be gained from further discussion. Lizzy was glad to retreat to the kitchen so she could think.

Lizzy made her second pot of tea at the parsonage with more competency than the first: stoking the fire and putting the kettle on to boil like a old retainer. The actions could not but return her to her own upset, but she fought valiantly to dwell on her sister's more dire problems.

Mary seemed to have calmed when Lizzy arrived upstairs with the tea. She agreed to sit up in bed to sip the brew while Lizzy went to check on Madeleine.

When Lizzy returned, Mary agreed to come downstairs, but she brought her sampler with her and began to sew it up into a pillow.

"Do you really think that will make any difference?" asked Lizzy.

"Do you have a better idea?" replied Mary.

She did not. So Lizzy reopened the novel and read aloud as Mary sewed.

Both ladies had retired to their respective bedchambers by the time Mr Collins was returned to the parsonage by Lady Catherine's carriage, sometime before midnight.

Yet Lizzy was not asleep. She lay awake in the darkness, mulling over her tumultuous day.

In his bedchamber at Rosings, Mr Darcy lay awake also, feeling pretty much the same.


	30. The cascade

**Thanks for your corrections,** ** _alix33_** **and** ** _ArinnaMyrene_** **.**

 **With regard to the comparative of 'dire', according to ngram, people use both forms, with 'direr' holding sway in the 19th century and 'more dire' coming to the fore in the 20th century. Personally, I have a lot of difficulty saying 'direr', and just think what it would do to Lady Catherine!**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 29 were:**

 **"A Tale of Two Sisters by _FatPatricia515_ ,**

 **"Revelations" by _Kaohing_ ,**

 **"A Clean Slate" by** _ **katharos** - **alyssa** **,**_

 **"Washing away the dirt", "Grimy revelations" by _NotACursedChild_ ,**

 **"Revelation of the senses" by _shannonhburden_ ,**

 **"Something rotten this way comes" by _Jansfamily4_ ,**

 **"By The Prickling of My Thumbs, Something Smelly This Way Comes" by _Dizzy_ _Lizzy_.60,**

 **"Unwashed Laundry" by guest,**

 **Thanks for all your great suggestions. I decided to go with a previous suggestion "Stale mate", from chapter 25 by guest.**

* * *

 **Chapter 30 The cascade**

Lizzy woke in the morning feeling very heavy-eyed. Sitting up, she saw Madeleine had crept into the room to build up the fire.

"Oh, go back to bed, Madeleine! You will get worse if you are not careful!"

Madeleine turned a pale face towards her mistress. "I feel a little better this morning," she assured Lizzy.

"You do not look a little better," yawned Lizzy. Then, noticing the light in the room, "Heavens, what time is it?"

"It is half-past eight, ma'am. I heard Mr Collins go down the stairs five minutes ago, so I thought I should help you get ready. Are you feeling unwell yourself?"

"Goodness! I have missed my walk! No, I am fine," said Lizzy, definitely feeling this was an optimistic view of things. "I had trouble getting to sleep last night," she confessed.

"Did Mr Collins disturb you?" asked the maid solicitously. "I heard him come in very late."

"Yes, Mr Collins disturbed me," affirmed Lizzy with grim irony.

Throwing back the covers, Lizzy pushed her feet into her silk slippers.

"Help me get dressed and then go back to bed, Madeleine! I want to see those circles disappear from under your eyes!" ordered Lizzy.

Elizabeth emerged from her bedchamber not twenty minutes later. Mary's door was still closed. Not a good sign.

Elizabeth knocked.

"Go away!" came Mary's voice from inside.

Sighing, Elizabeth decided to deal with one problem at a time, knowing Mr Collins deplored being kept waiting for his breakfast.

Down in the kitchen, she found Betsy's preparations very much behindhand and offered to deal with the toast. The eggs and ham arrived at the table seven minutes late.

"Is Mrs Collins not joining us?" asked the clergyman, returning his watch to his pocket as Elizabeth sat down to table.

"I'm afraid she is still afflicted from yesterday," confessed Elizabeth.

Mr Collins was spared a reply to this news by the ringing of the front doorbell. Once more, Betsy's hobnail boots flew down the hall.

Elizabeth flushed. Could it be the Rosings party so early? Lizzy was not sure she could meet Mr Darcy with equanimity.

 **"** It's the post, for you, ma'am," said Betsy, coming into the room soon after. "Do you have sixpence?"*

In the habit of always carrying some coins in her pocket, Elizabeth was able to retrieve the desired sum.

When the letter turned out to be from Mrs Gardiner, Elizabeth brightened immediately. She had every expectation that reinforcements would soon be on their way. A quick perusal of her aunt's letter dashed those hopes.

"My aunt is still unable to join us," explained Elizabeth to Mr Collins. "All three of her sons are covered with spots and the youngest, Timmy, is quite demented with scratching."

Mr Collins shuddered. "Advise her not to leave London until the infection is quite conquered! We would not want her boys suffering."

Ordinarily, Elizabeth would have smiled at the gracious overtone of Mr Collins self-serving pronouncement, but the disappointment of finding herself alone in her predicament overwhelmed her.

Mr Collins wiped his mouth with his napkin and pushed his chair out from the table. "I fear I must depart again to Rosings this morning. The work Lady Catherine and I started yesterday is but partially completed. I expect I will be at the manor house for the best part of today. You will check on Mrs Collins occasionally?"

"Of course," said Elizabeth.

Elizabeth sat alone over the remains of her breakfast, considering her next move. It was clear that she would have to broach the distasteful topic of hygiene to Mr Collins alone. The whole prospect filled her with dread. She decided a late walk to mull over how best to approach the topic was needed. After instructing Betsy to take a tray up to Mary, she pulled on her bonnet and pelisse.

Lizzy walked as far as the lake, her mind a blank. No inspiration on how she might tackle the problem presented itself to her. Worse still, every lapse of concentration diverted her mind to Mr Darcy. Elizabeth found herself reimagining their last conversation, with more felicitous words issuing from her mouth at every step.

Elizabeth reached the lake and circumnavigated it, with no resolution for the Collins problem coming to mind. Defeated, she decided to talk further with Mary, so that she might at least establish what blind alleys had been explored. She headed back to the parsonage.

She had exited the park and was about to cross the lane when the sound of steady hoofbeats stopped her in her tracks. A rider in unknown livery drew up at the parsonage in a cloud of dust. Flinging himself from the saddle, the rider hitched his horse to the fence post and entered the parsonage gate. A courier was never good news. Elizabeth immediately thought of her father.

Picking up her skirts, she hastened to catch up with the newcomer.

"May I help you?" she asked, as the courier made to ring the bell a second time.

"Is this the Hunsford parsonage?" asked the young man.

Elizabeth affirmed that it was.

"Message for Miss Elizabeth Bennet," he stated, opening his satchel.

Elizabeth trembled. "I am she."

He handed the missive over. "I've been instructed to wait for a reply."

Agitated, Elizabeth glanced at the direction. She fancied it was a man's hand, but not one she immediately recognised. Turning her back on the courier, she broke the seal and trod towards the rose bush.

 _Dear Cousin Elizabeth,_

 _Forgive me for interrupting your sojourn with your sister, but I must beg for your return to London. Father had a stroke two days ago. The situation is not good. The doctor believes another such event could be imminent and will likely carry him off. Uncharacteristically, Mother collapsed this morning after tending him for thirty-six hours straight. Your presence at this time would be gratefully appreciated. If your sister can spare you, I would be willing to ride down to Kent this afternoon to escort you back to Mickleham House. I can be there as early as two. Please send your reply,_

 _God Bless You,_

 _Cousin Freddy._

Elizabeth's agitation on reading this missive was great, but her way forward was clear. Between a distressed sister and a dying uncle, her duty lay with the uncle.

Hurrying into the house, Elizabeth met Betsy, who had belatedly answered the door, and directed her to offer some small beer to the courier while she wrote her reply. Entering Mary's sitting room, Lizzy found her sister had finally come downstairs.

"What is it?" asked Mary as Elizabeth hurried in. "Is it Papa?"

"No," said Elizabeth. "The baron has had a stroke. May I use a sheet of your paper?"

Elizabeth speedily penned her acquiescence to Freddy and sanded the letter.

"What are you replying?" asked Mary. "You do not intend to go off before even Aunt Gardiner arrives?"

"I had a letter from Aunt Gardiner this morning, Mary. She has further delayed her advent. I think it is best if I go back to London now and return when she can make the journey with me."

Elizabeth folded and sealed the letter.

"But you cannot just leave me here like this! You haven't done a thing!" exclaimed Mary.

Elizabeth flushed, knowing this was true.

"I'm sorry, Mary. I should have pressed you earlier for more details. But I need to go. My aunt collapsed this morning. She needs help."

Elizabeth got up and moved towards the door. She was surprised when Mary made a spirited attempt to snatch the letter from her hand.

"You can't leave me!" expostulated Mary indignantly.

Elizabeth was easily able to fend off Mary's attack and slip past her to the door. "Please, Mary, behave with more decorum until the courier has left."

Elizabeth strode off down the hall.

"I knew Mama should have sent Jane!" Mary wailed behind her. "You ruin everything!"

Arriving at the front door with her best efforts at composure, Elizabeth found Betsy batting her eye lashes at the courier while he quaffed the last of a tankard. _Thank goodness for distractions!_ Lizzy handed him the missive.

"How much do I owe?" she asked him.

"All paid for at the the other end, ma'am," said the courier. "But I won't say no to a tip."

Elizabeth extracted a shilling from her pocket and handed it over.

"Much appreciated, ma'am," said the courier, tipping his hat.

Handing the tankard back to Betsy with a flirtatious smile, the young man stowed the letter in his satchel and the shilling in his purse. Returning to the front gate, he untied his horse, then sprang athletically into the saddle. In the blink of an eye he was off.

After taking a deep breath, Elizabeth turned back to the house while Betsy lingered, determined to watch the young man until he was out of sight. Mary was standing at the front door.

"You think you are so important!" snarled Mary and slammed the door in her sister's face.

Startled, Elizabeth looked at Betsy.

"We can go in by the back door, ma'am," offered Betsy.

Elizabeth sighed, in no mood for a turn up with her sister. "I think I will go for a walk."

When Elizabeth reached to open the gate to Rosings Park, she realised her hand was shaking. Perturbed, she picked up her skirts and began to run.

It had been her original intention to return to the lake, but she seemed to reach that in no time, with little diminution of her sense of restlessness and failure. Onwards she ran, past the path to the bluebell dell; then further, past the butterfly meadow. She did not want to stop, for if she did, she knew she would only fall into sad recriminations. How long she ran, she did not know. She kept to the main path. It was only when she began to flag that she realised she had gone far further than any of her previous walks, with their recognisable landmarks. Still, she did not feel ready to retrace her steps.

Stopping to pull Mr Darcy's map from her pocket, Elizabeth consulted it. It was only then that she realised that she had foolishly failed to count the deviations from the main path that might have given her some clue to her location. After some consideration, Lizzy thought she might be in one of two places and began to look about her for further clues. When a break in the trees gave her a glimpse of the east side of the manor house in the distance, Elizabeth decided she must be near the home wood, a place that Darcy had lauded for its beauty, but which Elizabeth had not yet visited because of its distance from the parsonage.

The map revealed a waterfall not too far away. Elizabeth decided it would be the best place to recoup before returning to the parsonage. As she walked along, some of her customary organisation asserted itself. She rued her lack of presence of mind in not advising Madeleine of her change in plans before leaving the parsonage. She could have at least asked Betsy to pass on a message.

The waterfall, when she reached it, turned out to be very beautiful, feeding a large pond before escaping into a stream. Elizabeth collapsed gratefully into the shade of a tree beside it.

Lizzy lay there on her back for a few minutes trying to calm herself, but the self-recriminations she had been holding off crowded in to haunt her. She rolled over and dangled her hand in the calming water of the pool. The coolness instantly brought resolution. She would write a letter to Mr Collins, clearly outlining that eccentric personal habits had no place in a marriage, which must entail sacrifices on the part of both parties.

Steadied by this progress, Elizabeth began to compose the letter in her head. She made several false starts before settling on a suitably polite but firm introduction.

No sooner had that sentence formed in her head than Lizzy was startled by a large splash from the far side of the pond. Sitting up, she at first thought a waterbird had entered the water in its quest for a fish and was having some trouble with its vigorous quarry. But when the splashing continued and gained a more steady rhythm, she realised someone was swimming in the pond. She watched in fascination as they made their way to the base of the falls and then was caught completely off guard when the swimmer climbed some rocks to stand directly beneath the falling water. It was a man, as naked as Adam.

Shocked, Elizabeth found herself completely unable to move, literally rooted to the spot. She could have been looking upon the embodiment of the Apollo Belvedere.* His broad back and shoulders tapered to a slim waist that flared to firm buttocks and thighs of heroic proportions. The bather also had well muscled calves and it was those calves, seen before in tight-fitting stockings, that finally brought recognition. Elizabeth realised she was looking at Mr Darcy.

Tearing her eyes away, Elizabeth felt her heart pounding in her chest. She realised the most prudent thing would be to creep away before Mr Darcy noticed he was not alone. Accordingly, she gathered her legs under her and made to steal off into the shadows, planning to circumnavigate her way back to the path by clinging to the edge of the clearing. But, as misfortune would have it, she had not taken a step when Mr Darcy turned his head in her direction, gave an involuntary cry and fell backwards off the rocks.

Her heart missed a beat while she waited for him to resurface. She could not swim at all and had only ever paddled up to her thighs in the brook near Longbourn as a child. The pond looked rather deep. She prayed he had not hit his head in his fall.

She was able to breathe again when his head came up with a practised flick that sent water streaming off in all directions.

He stared at her, as if disbelieving his eyes. "Miss Bennet!" he exclaimed.

Elizabeth flushed all over. "Mr Darcy, I am very sorry. I... I beg your pardon."

At this point whatever equilibrium was left to Elizabeth that day completely deserted her. She got up and ran.

While Elizabeth had proceeded from the parsonage at a steady jog, her most recent embarrassment gave her wings. She sped along the path at a tremendous pace. Having gone about a mile, she was just beginning to flag, when she heard hoofbeats behind her and realised Mr Darcy was pursuing her.

"Miss Bennet!" she heard him call from behind.

Defeated, Elizabeth slowed down.

When Mr Darcy came up with her, he was wearing more clothes than when she had last seen him, but was still in a state of considerable undress. He was wearing his breeches and top boots, and thus looked perfectly respectable from the thigh down. But he was not wearing his tail coat, having only thrown his shirt over his head. His chemise gaped at the neck, where his cravat was missing, and was only tucked into his breeches on one side. His hair was dishevelled. Elizabeth was astonished at how handsome he looked in his untidy state.

He dismounted. "Miss Bennet! Please forgive me for not looking about me more carefully before diving in! I would not have disturbed you for the world after..."

"It is of no great matter," Elizabeth replied, finding herself too embarrassed to look him in the eye in his current state. "You had every reason to think yourself private. I fear I have wandered too far from the parsonage today."

"Well, that is no excuse on my part, but you are very far from the parsonage. It must be at least three miles..."

"The distance from Longbourn to Netherfield," Elizabeth replied, managing to look at the leaves on some trees somewhere over his left shoulder.

"Indeed," he said, recalling the rather nasty things the Bingley sisters had said behind Elizabeth's back when she arrived, a little sullied from the field to visit her sick sister.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"I wish to apologise for my precipitate leave-taking yesterday," started Darcy. "I know my mother would have upbraided me for my manners."

"I, too, could have been more polite," agreed Elizabeth. "I said several infelicitous things, which I much regret."

"Indeed, both of us said things that we must now regret," affirmed Darcy, causing Elizabeth to catch her breath.

Her eyes involuntarily flew to his. _Did he mean he regretted his proposal?_

Darcy saw the wounded look in her eyes.

"Are you well? You do not look well..." he ventured.

"I received some disturbing news this morning," said Elizabeth, giving her ready excuse to cover her discomfiture. "The baron has had a stroke. My aunt is greatly afflicted. I intend to return to London this afternoon."

"Do you need an escort? I would be glad..."

"Freddy is coming down this afternoon to escort me."

"Ah!"

"That was why I ran out from the parsonage. I needed some time alone to think."

"What time are you leaving?"

"I expect Freddy by two o'clock and have not yet even directed my maid to pack."

"Perhaps we should continue walking in the direction of the parsonage." Darcy suggested.

Elizabeth nodded in agreement. She was still having difficulty looking at him in his unkempt state.

The track just admitted them walking side by side, with Darcy leading his horse.

"Your sister will disappointed at your early departure..."

In her weakened state, all of Elizabeth's internal barriers gave way.

"I'm afraid that is rather an understatement. My sister's marriage is on the verge of rupture. I was sent down to try to patch things up and I have totally failed, possibly even made things worse by giving Mary a shoulder to cry on."

"How is this?" exclaimed Darcy. "I thought the Collinses were doing well together?"

Elizabeth hardly felt herself capable of coming at the problem head on. "Mary is having difficulty adjusting to her reduced household," she started. "Betsy is a sweet girl but hardly capable enough to be the sole maid in an establishment."

Darcy was silent. Elizabeth looked up to see he was biting his lip.

"I fear my interference, with the best of intentions, is to blame here," he confessed. "You may recall that I told you that I was aware of Betsy's circumstances. Her father was caught poaching and due to my aunt's draconian measures was transported. Her mother, who is a seasonal field worker, then naturally fell behind on the rent. Betsy's elder sister tried to make up the difference by seeking work in London. She has never been heard from again. I only became aware of this when the family—for there are several younger children—were on the point of being evicted.

"I have tried to explain to my aunt that one reaps what one sows*—if she had not been so scaly in her wages and high in her rents, there would have been no need for Thomas Ditchfield to have poached at all. My aunt instead ascribes to a maxim that the sun must sink in the west before it can rise in the east*; that only through harsh punishment can law and order be maintained."

He gave an exasperated sigh.

"Anyway, I eventually convinced her to take Betsy on as a kitchenmaid at the manor house. Unfortunately the housekeeper took a dislike to her, calling her a 'shiftless thing'. My aunt tried to restore harmony by transferring her to the parsonage when Mr Collins took up the post. The older housekeeper there decided to retire when Mrs Bede left."

"I don't know about 'shiftless'," replied Elizabeth. "I would call it more a case of ignorance. There is so much Betsy doesn't know and she is too overwhelmed by the position to remember half the things you tell her. She needs someone to instruct her. Mary is not versed in the details of cooking and baking. She knows how to construct menus and give general orders."

"I see," said Darcy. "There really needs to be a more experienced person to oversee Betsy..."

They had just reached the crest of a rise that descended further into the valley when Darcy stopped in his tracks. Elizabeth looked ahead to see some workers with a mule crossing the track.

"Bridge workers," said Darcy. "I believe we should stop so that I may repair myself before proceeding. I think the path to the butterfly meadow is just yonder. Do you mind?"

Elizabeth immediately understood it would not look good for them to be seen together in Darcy's current state. "Of course not."

They found the path within the next twenty yards and turned down it.

"I can give you a lift back on my horse once I am sorted, to expedite things," said Darcy.

Elizabeth made a noncommittal reply and they walked on in silence.

Once they arrived at the meadow, Darcy dropped his reins to let his horse graze.

"Is Mr Collins aware of your return to London?" he asked as he untied a bundle of his clothes from the saddle. "Aunt said something this morning of him returning to the manor house to continue working on some sermons..."

He flicked his cravat round his neck and pulled it up under his collar points. Realising she was watching him dressing, Elizabeth turned her back on him to view the meadow.

"No, he left before the courier arrived," she replied. "I'm afraid yesterday's trip to the vicarage precipitated the most recent boil over. Your aunt made some uncomplimentary comparisons between Mary and Mrs Shuttergate regarding household economy."

"Oh dear," said Darcy. "I'm afraid my aunt can't help organising other women. I do wish she would spend more time looking at the bigger picture. It would certainly make my life easier."

When Darcy stopped talking for a moment, Elizabeth knew him to be adjusting his garments.

"There!" he said. "Am I passable?"

Elizabeth turned to see he had tucked in his shirt and pulled on his tailcoat. His cravat was slightly askew.

She reached out without thinking, then stopped her hand mid-air. "If I may?" she said uncertainly.

"Of course," said Darcy, holding still.

Elizabeth plucked at his cravat to even it out.

"Thank you," said Darcy, turning to remove his beaver from the pommel of his saddle, where it was balanced precariously. He restored it to his head. "I have an idea how I can deal with the Betsy situation, so hopefully that will restore marital harmony."

Elizabeth sighed and folded her arms, grasping her elbows. She turned her back on Darcy. "Thank you, that will help, but I'm afraid I have not told you the half of it..."

"Please, relieve your mind," begged Darcy.

"This is so embarrassing..." said Elizabeth, trying to find the words.

Darcy waited in silent encouragement.

"Let us just say..." said Elizabeth, "that it would have been better if my cousin had been the one under that waterfall this morning."

Darcy was having trouble understanding this sphinx-like utterance. _Did Elizabeth wish to see her cousin naked?_ Darcy had never regarded Mr Collins as the greatest specimen of the male sex...

"I'm not sure..." he started.

Elizabeth realised she had been too cryptic. "My cousin never washes and it is making my sister ill!" she said in a rush.

"Ah!" said Darcy, his face quite frozen. "Well! That is a unique problem!" He then frowned. "Or may be not," he added.

"I was going to write a letter to my cousin before I left," explained Elizabeth, "saying that marriage required some sacrifices on the part of both husband and wife. But I doubt it will be successful—there is only one woman that he listens to. I don't suppose you could ask your aunt to demand that he washes?"

Darcy almost smiled at the thought before retaining a proper form. "So it is not just carelessness on his part?"

"Oh, no! He believes water is quite injurious to the health! He restricts Betsy from washing his sheets and clothes!"

"Yet another reason to get a better housekeeper," murmured Darcy.

He thought for a moment. "I have noticed his... personal aroma. Do not write your letter. You will have to let me think about this one, but I am sure something can be achieved, even if it does require my aunt's intervention."

"I would not wish to lower my cousin in your aunt's eyes," said Elizabeth warily. "I believe she is unaware of the problem."

"I wouldn't be surprised," said Darcy. "Her sense of smell is not the best... Do not worry. I think her aid can be enlisted without full disclosure."

Darcy's horse snorted and proceeded to move away in search of another clump of dandelions.

"Perhaps we should head back," suggested Darcy. "You need to inform your maid to pack."

"I am fine to walk," said Elizabeth. "It is only a mile from here."

"Come now," said Darcy. "You accepted a double from my cousin the other day. Can we not still be friends?"

Elizabeth humbly acceded.

She got up behind him in much the same manner as she had done under Colonel Fitzwilliam's guidance and they were off.

Elizabeth found herself clinging very tightly to Mr Darcy, far more tightly than she had clung to Colonel Fitzwilliam. Not being confident on horseback, she had had one or two dreams of being thrown from a horse since that first ride. At least, that was her excuse... As Elizabeth pressed her head to his broad back, she could not help thinking how wonderful Mr Darcy smelled.

Too soon, they arrived. Darcy jumped down as she clung to the back of the saddle and stretched his hands out to ease her down. She stumbled and fell into him as her feet touched the ground, getting another good whiff of him before she pushed herself away.

"Are you all right?" he asked as he steadied her.

"Oh, yes!" she exclaimed, blushing bright red. "I am not very good on horseback. You would think a squire's daughter would be more accomplished in that area!"

"Well, good luck with your journey," he said, releasing her elbow. "I hope the baron recovers."

"Thank you," Elizabeth said stepping away.

Darcy remounted and turned his horse towards the manor house.

"I will tell your cousin of your change of plans," he said.

Then he swatted his horse lightly with his crop and rode off.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

sixpence - letters delivered to regional centres were paid for by the recipient, with the sum dependent on the number of sheets and the distance. The cost for a single sheet ranged between four pence and 1 shilling six pence. Hopefully sixpence is a good guess between London and Kent.

Blind alley — a dead end, with no way through. Figuratively, a course of action that is unfruitful. The phrase was first recorded in Richard Stanyhurst's, Thee first foure bookes of Virgil his Æneis translated, 1583:

"Through crosse blynd allye we iumble."

Apollo Belvedere—a celebrated marble sculpture, thought to be a Roman copy of Hadrianic date of a lost bronze original made between 350 and 325 BC by the Greek sculptor Leochares. It was rediscovered in central Italy during the Italian Renaissance, and placed on semi-public display in the Vatican Palace, where it remains. From the mid-18th century it was considered the greatest ancient sculpture by ardent neoclassicists and also the embodiment of the Western ascetic of male beauty. Wikipedia

one reaps what one sows—Galatians 6:7: "Do not be deceived, God is not mocked; for whatever a man sows, this he will also reap."

sink in the west—I wanted to use to hit 'rock bottom' here, but it is an Americanism from the 1850s.


	31. Pride before the fall

**Thanks, _mariantoinette1_ , for pointing out the missing footnote. I've also added another that I missed for sixpence. I did remember to put a picture of the Apollo Belvedere on Pinterest.**

 **As for the Gardiner children, I admitted to taking liberties with their sex and number at the beginning of Chapter 26. In my story, Mr and Mrs Gardiner enjoy a close relationship, with Mrs Gardiner very much in the driver's seat when it comes to intimacy.**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 30 were**

 **"Picking up good vibrations" by _suddenlysingle_ ,**

 **"Cleansing Waters" by _FatPatricia515_ ,**

 **"Diminished sense", "Injurious to the health", "Dirty family laundry", "No clean break", "Filthy thoughts", "Grit and grime" by _guest_**

 **"Reek what you Sew," (a play on reap what you sow, obviously) or perhaps, "The Putrid Parson." Or maybe "Foul Revelations" by _Merlin_ ,**

 **"In want of a Fortune teller" by _beatrizwolfstark_ ,**

 **"To throw water on fire" or "Come hell or high water" by _EmilyWoods_ ,**

 **"A new beginning" by _b_sepulveda_m_ ,**

 **"the stench of clergy'?, 'Various marital woes' 'Bad news and nudity' or 'bad news with a hint of nudity'? by _Jansku_ ,**

 **"Unkempt specimens of the male sex" by _guest_ ,**

 **"The Great Unwashed" by _guest_ ,**

 **"Coming out", "Running to ...", "Clearing the fog" by _beaty,_**

 **"Naked truth" by _guest._**

 **I loved "reek what you sow" and thought of "It never rains til it pours", "A cascade of events" and "Cats and Dogs". I decided to go with "The cascade" prompted by your suggestion, _FatPatricia515_.**

* * *

 **Chapter 31** **Pride before the fall**

When Lizzy arrived at the front door of the parsonage she found it closed but not locked. She let herself in and immediately relieved herself of her boots. She was not halfway down the hall when Mary emerged from her sitting room.

"I am sorry," said Mary, a little petulantly.

"No matter," said Lizzy. "I have some news, but I need first to tell Madeleine that she must pack."

"She had it from Betsy," declared Mary.

"Thank heavens for Betsy!" returned Elizabeth, glad that at least something had gone right that day.

Lizzy came into Mary's sitting room and closed the door. She noticed Mary was still working on sewing up the fancywork pillow.

"I met Mr Darcy when I was out," said Lizzy. "He has undertaken to address some of the issues that concern you."

"Heavens! What issues?" asked Mary, quite alarmed.

"Merely that you are used to a more genteel household with more servants," explained Elizabeth, not entirely openly.

"And what did he have to say upon that?"

"That he quite understood. He even felt a little guilty for putting Betsy in your way—which he did as a kind of charity to her family—for she is not fully trained yet. He intends to get a better housekeeper, possibly to oversee Betsy."

"So he will just overrule his aunt's edict that one servant is sufficient for the parsonage?" scoffed Mary.

"Well, Mr Darcy and the Earl of Matlock do govern Miss de Bourgh's trust on her behalf," Elizabeth pointed out. "But I understand that Mr Darcy rather manages to cajole his aunt."

"Impossible!" said Mary.

"He has done it before," assured Elizabeth.

Mary just shook her head. "Even if he succeeds, which I doubt, Mr Collins will never pay."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. "I had thought this was a good living."

"It is, but Mr Collins is saving to buy some cottages on a nearby estate. He has intentions of becoming a landlord."

"He should think first," Lizzy said tartly, "of keeping his wife."

Mary just smiled at that, clearly in a much better mood.

"Mr Darcy also thought a better housekeeper would revise Mr Collins' beliefs on the frequency with which the household linen should be laundered," offered Elizabeth.

"I suppose that might help..." conceded Mary.

Elizabeth could not bring herself to disclose anything further. In retrospect, she feared she had been rather too free with Mr Darcy about the Collinses' marriage as it was. She could only blame her lapse on the morning's unsettling events.

"I had better go up to see how Madeleine is faring with the packing," she said.

* * *

As promised, Freddy arrived by two. So, unfortunately, did Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Her timing was impeccable. Freddy had only time to hug Elizabeth, bow to Mary, and make tentative arrangements for the return journey to London with Elizabeth's groom before Lady Catherine's carriage appeared in the lane.

Mr Collins was loud in expatiating how Lady Catherine had made it her duty to deliver him to his door for the departure of his cousin. Elizabeth wondered if the grand lady had spyed Freddy in the lane with her glass.

"Deawest Fweddy!" beamed Lady Catherine as she emerged from her vehicle, to be handed down by Mr Collins. "I believe the last time I saw you, you were scarcely bweeched!"

Freddy gave a covert alarmed look at Elizabeth. "Lady Catherine!" he said with a bow. "I regret to say I have no memory of the event! I do remember Father spoke often of Sir Lewis during the days when they both still frequented their club, however."

"Yes! So sad to hear the bawon's health is failing! Sir Lewis, too, was taken before his time! Though I told him that gin is injuwious to the health!"

"Quite!" said Freddy solemnly, with another wide-eyed glance at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth could have laughed, for she knew that Freddy drank gin with his father on the occasional evenings they were closeted together, typically with visitors like the Lascelles. Clearly the mention of the baron's health precluded such levity. But on reflection, she realised that Freddy was not the kind of fellow who spent raucous nights at the Daffy Club*, like she had heard of the Viscount Aldley.

"I wather think you have not met my daughter, Anne," continued Lady Catherine. "She was only seven when Sir Lewis passed and consequently has not been much to the metwopolis."

Anne emerged from the carriage, looking very much like her old shadow of herself. Knowing her better from her visits to the parsonage, Elizabeth realised she was embarrassed.

Freddy made his bow, then kissed Anne's glove. "Delighted to meet you, Miss de Bourgh."

"Well!" declared Mr Collins, clasping his hands together. "You must honour us with your presence at luncheon, Lady Catherine, before Elizabeth's departure!"

Lady Catherine nodded approvingly. Mary looked horror struck.

What happened next remained forever a blur in Elizabeth's mind. Mary immediately saw there was nothing for it but to abandon the comfortable arrangement for a nuncheon with Freddy that had been set up around the small dining table in her sitting room. Betsy was instructed to prepare the larger dining table, normally set against the wall in the front room, with the better china.

Meanwhile, Mr Collins had the happy notion of showing Lady Catherine the new vegetables shooting in his garden while a harassed-looking Betsy affected the change. Much to Elizabeth's astonishment, the grand lady professed an interest in the proposed tour, engaging Freddy's escort. Through the window, Elizabeth saw them frequently engaged in lively conversation, with Lady Catherine pushing Anne towards Freddy at every opportunity. Thus was the grand lady occupied for the next twenty minutes.

Inside the house, Elizabeth and Mary soon decided to set the table themselves when Betsy made a mull of it. Meanwhile they had already engaged in a hurried discussion on how the modest repast they had prepared for Freddy could be extended to three more diners. Thus, Elizabeth's footman, who had presented himself at the parsonage with the groom after their extended holiday in Hunsford, thinking he had only to carry Elizabeth's trunks down, was instead sent running back to the village for more bread, meat and cheese. While the ladies reordered Betsy's dining farrago, the maid was instructed to water down the stew to a soup for the first course.

The result was passable. Mary was considerably relieved when Lady Catherine declared it 'pastoral'.

The coachman arrived at the parsonage with Elizabeth's equipage just as Mary was about to order tea.

"I must beg your pardon, Cousin Mary," declared Freddy, "but I fear Elizabeth and I should be off as soon as the coach can be loaded. It is well past three already."

Thus did they extract themselves.

By the time their goodbyes had been said and suitable advice received from Lady Catherine on just where in Bromley they should get the best posting horses, the trunks had been secured in the boot.

Lizzy gave one last parting hug to Mary, whispering that she would come back with Mrs Gardiner as soon as she was able, should Mr Darcy's intervention not be successful. Mary nodded solemnly in return.

Then the travellers were off down the lane.

"Thank goodness for your temerity!" said Elizabeth. "I thought we would never get away!"

"What a formidable old dragon!" declared Freddy. "Am I correct in assuming she was foisting Miss de Bourgh upon me?"

"Yes," replied Elizabeth in her best joking manner. "Lady Catherine is looking for a sufficiently prosperous young gentleman to make her daughter's removal elsewhere look unremarkable—she has grown quite used to ruling the roost here at Rosings, you see. Mr Darcy was previously the favourite—he is her nephew. But my arrival caused a rethink. I had to endure two dinners at Rosings because of you!"

"Oh, Lord!" said Freddy, looking uncharacteristically careworn. "I'm sorry. It isn't safe to walk down the street these days! I had hoped I would have another ten years of my relatively carefree existence before being burdened with the barony!"

Elizabeth immediately saw he was quite afflicted and regretted her manner. "I am sorry, Freddy," she said, reaching out to him. "Are things very bad?"

"Who knows? Father has been failing for years now, so it does not come as a surprise. Yet I had hoped he would continue to hold on for my own selfish reasons... I knew I could no longer continue to delude myself when Lord Fotherby approached me."

"Who is Lord Fotherby?" asked Elizabeth, surprised.

"He is the silent partner who originally helped Father found the bank. He is not involved in the day-to-day business, but he has been enormously useful over the years in raising funds so that we might extend our loans. He has been wanting Father to increase the volume of loans for years now—there is plenty of demand from ambitious tradesmen and consortia.

"The problem is we do not have the capacity for more business without changing the way in which we do things. We currently employ an army of junior clerks who can add two and two together. They are directly overseen by Mr Peabody. He spends most of his time correcting their mistakes. I think we can do more by taking on more senior clerks, men who are skilled with numbers but are not sufficiently well-to-do to start a business of their own. I know several such men through my university connections, but Father is averse to the risk."

"Is it so risky?" asked Elizabeth.

"There is always an element of risk involved whenever you alter a successful business, but there is also a risk in staying the same, particularly when conditions are changing. Standing at a distance, Lord Fotherby can see the changes. Being so close to the day-to-day running of the bank, Father cannot."

"Is there any chance you will lose your fortune?" asked Elizabeth in consternation.

"If the status quo remained, no. We might lose out on some opportunities... But the real risk is Lord Fotherby. If he chooses to take his money and influence elsewhere, he could slowly bleed us dry."

"But surely, if he is your father's friend he would not do such a thing?"

"There is such a thing as a fair-weather friend, Elizabeth. Have you heard the term?"

"Yes, he will only be your father's friend while things are going well."

"Exactly."

"So knowing your father is fading, Lord Fotherby approached you..." Elizabeth prompted.

"Indeed. I refused to make the changes behind my father's back while he is on his death bed..."

"Is that what Lord Fotherby suggested to you?" asked Elizabeth, aghast. "How shocking!"

Freddy smiled glumly at Elizabeth's naivety and pressed her hand. "I have set myself the task of trying to talk Father round, now that it can make no difference to his own material wealth... Still he resists, talking of a legacy..."

"Could you not enlist your mother's help?" asked Elizabeth. "Surely Aunt Sempronia has great powers of persuasion over the baron?"

"I do not like to bother my mother with such weighty matters. She genuinely loves my father and has been quite distraught these past few days."

Elizabeth thought for a moment. "I do not doubt that Aunt Sempronia is sincerely attached to the baron, but part of the anxiety we females must bear relates to the uncertainty of our own circumstances. How I have watched my mother fret over the years at the possibility that my father might pass, when he is perfectly healthy! What will happen to your mother when the baron dies? Will she remove to your country estate?"

"I had not thought...," started Freddy. "But of course she will stay with me!"

"But you will get married and the townhouse is not large enough to house the both of you, given over as it is to accommodating business guests..."

"Then we can hire another townhouse and she can live there with you," suggested Freddy.

"Freddy, your mother once said something to me, that it would be useful for me to gain a knowledge of business so I could understand the management of my own fortune. I think she would prefer to be involved in the decision making rather than shielded from it. It is her nature."

As soon as Elizabeth said the words, Freddy knew they were true. A lump formed in his throat. He was not sure why. Perhaps he felt a little guilty that this newcomer understood his mother so much better than himself.

He brought his glove up to her cheek. "Elizabeth!" he said. "What would I have done at this time without you?"

* * *

After informing Mr Collins of Elizabeth's early departure and taking a snack in his rooms, Darcy had ridden back to the bridge, ostensibly to check on progress there. In truth, he knew he had done it to catch a last glimpse of Elizabeth as she departed down the lane.

Darcy had spent most of the previous night heartsick. He was not a man who was used to rejection. But nor had his pride allowed him to fully accept Elizabeth's answer as final. What she needed, he had decided by sunrise, was more time.

Their meeting at the waterfall had not overly discomposed him. Darcy had gone there to wash away the trauma of the previous hours. True, he would not knowingly have exposed himself to a genteel young lady. But he felt their rational conversation afterwards showed she had not been disgusted by their woodland adventure. Without being especially vain, Darcy knew he was 'well-knit'*, as Mrs Reynolds liked to put it. He felt the encounter could only have been to his advantage.

When he saw Elizabeth's carriage bowling down the lane, Darcy rode over to a small rise near the hedge, so that he might salute her as she passed. But she was turned towards Freddy in close conversation, not looking at the passing countryside. It was at that unfortunate moment that Darcy saw Freddy's hand come up to Elizabeth's cheek. A conflagration of jealous rage consumed him—such that he had never known he possessed. If there had been any doubt before, it was then he knew that he truly loved her.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

Daffy Club—a gin-drinking sporting club, convened once a week by James Soares at the Castle Tavern, Holborn, which was owned by the famous boxer, Tom Belcher.

well-knit—well put together, a handsome body.


	32. In sickness and in health

**Thanks for your corrections, _alix33_!**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 33 were:**

 **"A hand" by b_ _sepulveda_ _m,**

 **"Hand in destruction", "CheekY misunderstanding" by _NotACursedChild_ ,**

 **"Freddie Lends a hand" by _M'Celeste_ ,**

 **"Steady Freddie", "Time hurries on" by _suddenlysingle_ ,**

 **"First hand information", "hand me downs (in different shapes)", "quite handy" by _beaty_ ,**

 **"Feeling more than something" or "Pride after the (water)fall" by _guest_ ,**

 **"Management of fortunes" by guest.**

 **"Pride after the fall" was pretty good. I think I will go with that.**

* * *

 **Chapter 32 In sickness and in health**

Elizabeth's first few days back at Mickleham House were very tense as the baron's life hung in the balance. The doctor had bled his patient til he dared take no more, with no improvement in his condition. The baron had not been able to eat or speak since his stroke. But he was cogent. He could move the fingers of his right hand, which he used to indicate his assent or dissent to questions posed to him. He took only water, which they dribbled into his mouth slowly from a spoon. Elizabeth took her turn in the sick room, to give her aunt some rest. Aunt Sempronia looked like she had aged several years in the few weeks Elizabeth had been away.

Finally, on the Friday after his stroke, the baron rallied. He woke one morning as Elizabeth was sitting by him and demanded Freddy in a slurred voice. He seemed not to recognise Elizabeth, taking her for a maid.

Freddy, who had been staying in one of the guest rooms at Mickleham House, was retrieved from the downstairs office. It became apparent that the baron's mind was still keenly focussed on business when his first words were on the state of a large loan that was being negotiated before he fell ill. Satisfied with Freddy's answer, more general information was extracted from his son, who struggled valiantly to decipher his father's words. Finally, the doctor arrived and begged the baron not to overexert himself.

Over the next few weeks the baron slowly improved. Eventually he was well enough to sit up in bed. After weeks of being spoon-fed broth, he could take a little gruel. It became apparent that his left side was most affected.

The whole household seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. The inevitable had been staved off.

Elizabeth had hardly left Mickleham House since her return from Kent. She had exchanged letters with Jane and her aunt Gardiner, apprising them of the baron's illness. In her first letter, Jane had, of course, asked if any progress had been made in Mary's situation before Elizabeth's departure from Hunsford. Lizzy could not with any honesty say she had resolved the situation, but she had replied that she was hopeful and was willing to return to Kent if necessary once the baron was deemed out of danger.

Jane's last letter had, at least, eased Lizzy's conscience on that score. Their mother had received a letter from Mary that was decidedly more cheerful. It also contained some ironic news—Mr Collins had contracted the chicken pox, which had been circulating in Hunsford village. So much for his superior health!

Elizabeth had belatedly written directly to Mary, trying to discover if there had been any intervention from Mr Darcy that had alleviated her situation. But the reply had been incomprehensible, full of biblical quotations including a reference to David and Bathsheba. Elizabeth had puzzled over it for days before lamely concluding that perhaps Mary was comparing herself to Solomon.*

Elizabeth had also received one message of support from Georgie, who was still staying at Richmond with her aunt Matlock. Georgie did not explain her extended sojourn in Richmond, nor did she mention the whereabouts of her brother. Elizabeth knew that Signor Pastrini had completed his spring tour but not yet resumed his lessons, which might account for Georgie's not returning to Mayfair on the date originally planned. Elizabeth had heard varying accounts of the delay from visitors to Mickleham House. One said that the maestro was ill with pneumonia, another that it was his wife who had been afflicted with the malady.

Between worrying about her aunt Sempronia's pallor, Elizabeth thought constantly about Darcy. She castigated herself for her lack of grace in dealing with his proposal, dwelt on his graciousness in picking up her handkerchief on Mary's behalf and frequently awoke hot and flushed in the middle of the night after dreaming of their encounter at the waterfall. In her dreams she generally did not run away, though once when she had done so, Darcy had chased her on horseback, wearing little more than he had sported under the cascade. On waking rather flustered, Lizzy believed he had been wearing his hat.

On her aunt's insistence, Elizabeth restarted her geometry and singing lessons, but these did little to distract her. She missed the outings to the theatre. Lizzy thought this was rather more than a pining for entertainment. Darcy's absence was a vacuum in her life. And into the vacuum flew doubt, rather like a reverse Pandora's box. Darcy's failure to send any note of sympathy to Mickleham House regarding the baron's plight seemed ominous. Lizzy felt abandoned and knew it to be all her own fault.

Her aunt noticed her melancholy. Elizabeth passed it off as the natural affliction they all shared in sympathy for the baron.

Lizzy certainly felt confined and constricted, but she dare not leave the house lest there be some other emergency. She took her exercise in the back garden or on the terrace outside her bedchamber. She wore her silk slippers as she paced back and forth on the terrace, so as to not disturb her aunt and uncle who might be sleeping at any time during the day.

Freddy had not gone back to The Albany after his father's recovery but remained nearby in the hope that he could delicately broach the topic of Lord Fotherby's patronage. Freddy had taken his mother into his confidence with regard to the situation on the night of his return from Kent, whilst Elizabeth sat vigil over his father. With her husband hovering near death, Sempronia had not thought it right to bother him, but with the gradual improvement in the baron's situation, she felt finally able to broach the matter. Thus, Lady Mickleham was able to lay Freddy's situation before her husband one day as she fed him his gruel.

After roundly cursing his business partner for his impatience, the baron seemed to soften.

"I don't have much time left, do I?" he slurred to his wife.

Sempronia's heart missed a beat, for she had well-nigh convinced herself over the last week that her husband would make a reasonable recovery.

"I rather think it is Freddy who is running out of time," she said gently, a tear running down her cheek.

"Very well," ceded the baron, sinking back into his pillows. "Tell Freddy to do what he must. But I want concessions!" he added in a more irascible tone.

"What concessions?" asked his wife.

"I want Freddy married, with my approval, before I die."

Then the baron waved away the remainder of the gruel, indicating that he wished to sleep. Setting the basin aside, Sempronia curled up beside him on the covers and tried not to cry.

* * *

The baron's demand should not have come as much of a surprise to Freddy. Ever since news of his father's sudden turn for the worse had become public knowledge, he had found himself the object of unwanted attention from the relatives of several eligible young ladies. He could not even escape their attentions at The Albany, where he was pursued by their uncles and brothers.

That was the main reason he had jumped at the chance to occupy one of the guest rooms at Mickleham House. But he also felt comforted by the presence of his mother and his cousin Elizabeth, as if he had regressed to being a little boy. It seemed strangely at odds with his imminent progression to becoming the man of the house. A vision of himself, dwarfed to child-like proportions, running to hide in the folds of his mother's skirts, twisted his lips into a wistful smile. The ladies were his rocks.

Freddy was wracked by his dilemma. His heart knew where it wanted to go, but his hand had been forced too early. It would not work. He rather thought he was going to have to make a practical decision: Lady Mary Torrington, a safe bet with good connections; Lady Hannah Greavesby, sensible and always with a smile; or perhaps Lady Anthea Ingleham, placid and agreeable, despite her ramshackle brother. They were all good women. Lady Mary was even beautiful in a cold, porcelain sort of way. But the thought of marrying any of them made Freddy's heart feel like lead. What he really wanted was that combination of brilliance and quicksilver, with the naughty laugh...

News reached Elizabeth of the baron's ultimatum on the following day as she took tea with her aunt Sempronia in their shared sitting room during a rare respite from their nursing duties. But when the baron's valet interrupted their tête-à-tête with a request for help, Sempronia hurried out before they could discuss the matter.

A few minutes later, as Elizabeth contemplated a second cup of tea alone, there was a knock and Freddy poked his nose into the room.

"I beg your pardon, cousin Elizabeth. Priddy told me I could find my mother here."

"She has just gone to the baron. Are you feeling all right, Freddy? You look careworn. Come in and take some tea."

Sighing, Freddy came into the room and closed the door behind him.

Elizabeth poured and handed him a cup. "Are the changes you are making to the bank proving tiresome?"

"No, no," said Freddy, sipping his tea. "Everything is going well with that. Three of the gentlemen I approached to fill positions have accepted. John Shipley—my friend from the custom's office—is starting tomorrow. It is the other half of the bargain I am having difficulty with."

Elizabeth nodded her head sympathetically. Although she did not wish to discuss her own situation, she could definitely relate to trouble with affairs of the heart.

"Is there no one who has caught your fancy, Freddy?" she asked.

Freddy was all too ready to unburden himself—if there was any hope, then Elizabeth could be the key.

"Well, yes," he replied. "But she is much too young and my attempts to gain her attention have not been marked. I have no idea whether she even likes me or not."

"Do I know her?" asked Elizabeth. "Perhaps I can help?"

Freddy stared at her in such a perplexed way that for a moment Elizabeth's heart stopped. Could it be that Freddy liked her? The idea was swept away in a moment and into the vacuum stepped a vision of Freddy's love.

"Is it Georgie, who you like? Georgiana Darcy?"

"Yes," whispered Freddy. "It is her."

Elizabeth smiled. "Then, I think your feelings might be returned."

Freddy seemed to release a great gasp. A fledgling smile appeared on his face. It was gone in a moment. He clasped his knees with either hand and bent over, as if he had just finished running a great race. He looked up. "Have you any idea how her brother might view my suit? He and I have spent some time together at the theatre and parties, but I feel I hardly know him. We belong to different clubs."

Now it was Lizzy's turn to be uncomfortable. "I do not know. I do not know him very well."

This news was not much solace to Freddy. "I must be sure of her feelings before I approach him. When are you due to see Miss Darcy again? Have you any idea when your piano lessons are expected to start again?"

"Yes, I received word from Signor Pastrini yesterday. They are to resume next week."

"And what of Miss Darcy? Is she still in Richmond?"

"Yes, but she intends to come back this week. She wrote to me this morning."

"Would you permit me some moments alone with her when she comes in to breakfast before your lesson?"

"But in the circumstances, she was not planning on coming inside," replied Elizabeth. "Georgie thought it would be too much of an imposition on the household when the baron is ill. I was to breakfast alone, then she would call in her carriage so that we might go to Bond Street together."

"I must get her inside," said Freddy, "so that we can talk unobserved. Will you allow me, perhaps, to say that you are unready? To ask her inside?"

"Yes, of course. If you think it is the right thing to do."

"I don't see that I have much choice," said Freddy, looking rather grey. "Father has relented and I must keep my half of the bargain."

Feeling all the burden of his predicament, Elizabeth leaned over to squeeze his arm through the sleeve of his tailcoat. "Of course, Freddy. You may have whatever help you need."

After Freddy went off, Elizabeth's doubts crept in. From Georgie's letters, Elizabeth had gathered that Darcy had recently returned to London from Kent—Georgie had been rather offended that her brother had urged her to stay in Richmond. His excuse was that he did not intend socialising. He felt she would be better entertained by remaining with her aunt. This sounded rather ominous to Elizabeth and smacked of that proud and awkward man who had walked into the Meryton assembly rooms. Had he reverted to his former unsociable self? Was she responsible?

Elizabeth had been rather worrying about Georgie's return. For the moment, the baron's illness provided some cover for the rift that had occurred between herself and Mr Darcy. It was perfectly natural that Lizzy should not go to the theatre with the Darcys or anyone else. But she had been rather dreading that Georgie would ask her to return to Darcy House to take tea with her after their piano lesson. It would be too awkward.

Now, these worries seemed completely trivial. Lizzy felt she was a hidden encumbrance to Freddy's happiness. Even if Georgie said yes—and Elizabeth thought she would—she was not of age. Freddy would then have to ask permission of her brother. Besides the inevitable questions—would Darcy think a newly created barony sufficient for his sister? would he disdain Freddy's work in the bank?—there was the impediment of the debacle at Hunsford. A connection between Freddy and Georgie would inevitably bring Lizzy into contact with Darcy again. Could he brook that?

She felt not. She had wounded his pride with her rude refusal of his proposal. Lizzy knew that pride was the thing that most men valued most and she felt for him it would be doubly so. He would not wish a permanent connection between them, to be continually thrust unwillingly into her company. And poor Freddy was in complete ignorance that she had thwarted his efforts before he even opened his mouth. Should she warn him?

The thoughts gnawed at her all afternoon and intermittently for the next few days. On the eve of her piano lesson, they returned in full force. Elizabeth was awake for half the night before she was able to finally fall asleep.

When she woke in the morning, it was with some clarity, even if she was a little heavy-eyed. She would not burden Freddy by anticipating Darcy's reaction. If things turned out badly, she would console Freddy and confess her role in the debacle. Still, she felt sick to the stomach and could not even swallow her tea at breakfast. Freddy came in as she was staring at her muffin. They made small talk as they waited for the Darcy carriage to arrive. When his usual dish of ham and eggs was placed in front of him, Freddy found himself similarly without appetite, and he pushed the food around his plate.

Finally a carriage was heard pulling up and Freddy stood to confirm it was Georgie.

"Good luck," whispered Elizabeth as Freddy headed to the door.

Elizabeth remained frozen in place as she awaited the outcome of their interview. She had not gone to the window. Freddy had decided to say that Elizabeth had woken late as his reason for coaxing Georgie inside. She heard them pass through the vestibule. What excuse Freddy had made for taking Georgie to the library instead of the breakfast parlour, she did not know. An eternity seemed to pass. Lizzy buttoned her pelisse, checked her hat and put on her gloves as the time for her piano lesson drew near. Lizzy had just consulted her watch, thinking it must be past the time when they could easily reach Bond Street for their lesson, when the door flew open and Georgie entered the room, her face aglow.

Seeing there were no servants there, Georgie closed the door behind herself and ran to hug Lizzy. "Oh, Elizabeth! I am so happy!"

* * *

 **Footnotes**

David and Bathsheba were Solomon's parents.


	33. Terms of endearment

**Suggestions for the title of chapter 32 were:**

 **"Come what May" by _Kaohing_ ,**

 **'Relations and Revelations' or 'Just Cause or Impediment' by _ilex_ - _ferox_ ,**

 **"Light in the darkness", "Happiness in the dark", "Sliver of happiness" by _NotACursedChild_ ,**

 **"Ready Freddie" by _suddenlysingle_ ,**

 **"In sickness and in health" by guest,**

 **I really liked "In sickness and in health", so I think I will go with that.**

* * *

 **Chapter 33 Terms of endearment**

Elizabeth hugged Georgie in response. "I thought you returned his feelings! But hurry, we must go. If we are late, the servants may realise something unusual is happening."

Georgie nodded and they hurried down to the carriage. As Lizzy sat on the squabs, Freddy appeared at the window of the baron's office to salute her. She waved back. The footman closed the door and they were off.

Once on their way, the clatter of the horses' hooves striking the cobbles allowed Lizzy to voice the question uppermost in her mind. "What do you think your brother will say?"

"I do not know," Georgie confessed more soberly. "I expect he will be out when I arrive home. He has been very strange since he returned from Rosings. My aunt Catherine often exasperates him, but I have never seen him so afflicted before. He has hardly spoken to me since I returned from Richmond yesterday. I had planned to go to Richmond again this afternoon. But I will send a message to my aunt, telling her I have been delayed. Hopefully the servants will know my brother's whereabouts. Freddy thought it would be best if he met brother at Brook's—less particular than presenting himself at Grosvenor Square where his visit might be noted and remarked upon."

"Would it be so strange for Freddy to present himself at Grosvenor Square?" asked Elizabeth, "—they have been seen at the theatre together. Or they might be conducting business," she continued. "Freddy could be arranging a loan..."

"Oh, no! Brother is not short of money," assured Georgie. "He is forever supporting other gentlemen's ventures. That is how he became friends with Mr Bingley."

Elizabeth opened her mouth in surprise. She had known Mr Darcy was rich. She had just not appreciated how much ten thousand a year equated to—enough to live in luxury, drive all over the country at a moment's notice, and still be able to help one's friends. Indeed, she was still struggling to come to terms with her own riches and realised she might not be using them to the best effect. Perhaps she could help relieve Freddy's anxieties with regard to Lord Fotherby?

"Freddy knows someone who can sign him in to Brooks!" continued Georgie, completely oblivious of Elizabeth's discomforture. "Brother is always very polite, so he will certainly agree to speak with Freddy. But I do worry he is in no mood to be conciliatory. You must impress to Freddy that he must be at his most persuasive!"

Elizabeth nodded, feeling sick again. To cover her feelings she asked Georgie if Freddy had given her a kiss when he proposed.

"Oh, no!" blushed Georgie. "He just held my hand! That was very proper, don't you think?"

"Maybe he will give you a kiss when he has your brother's permission," Elizabeth replied hopefully, willing the outcome to be favourable.

Then the coach stopped in Bond Street and they could say no more.

Georgie was not at her best at her piano lesson that day and Lizzy's playing left much to be desired also. Master Pastroni declared he had been away too long.

The friends hugged again before Lizzy descended the coach at Mickleham House.

On returning to Grosvenor Square, Georgie sent a note by footman to Elizabeth, saying her brother had gone to the City on business. As he expected Georgie to return to Richmond, Darcy had advised Mrs Flowers she need not prepare dinner—he intended to take an ordinary* at Brook's. As Darcy generally changed his attire before walking to Brook's, Georgie expected she could advise her brother of Freddy's wish for an audience on his return from the City.

Lizzy did not think she had ever spent a more anxious afternoon. Indeed, her anxiety far exceeded anything she had felt on Jane's behalf in regard to Mr Bingley. But she had been blameless in her conduct there. Guilt, Lizzy realised, was an uncomfortable emotion.

Freddy spent the day working in his father's office, opposite Mr Peabody. In the circumstances of the baron's slow recovery, no one thought it strange. Finally a second note from Georgie came round at four o'clock and Lizzy hurried into the library to read it. The direction to her was written in Georgie's loopy hand, but Lizzy started when she unsealed it, for the note itself was in Darcy's firm copperplate writing. It gave little away:—

 _"Mr Darcy is at liberty to receive Mr Froome in the Green Room at Brook's from half past four onwards"_ , then that highly recognisable signature.

Lizzy knocked on the interconnecting door to the office—her agreed signal with Freddy.

When he answered by stepping into the room, she merely handed the letter to him.

He glanced at it, then took out his watch. It was a quarter to four.

"Well, better now than never," he said, straightening his tailcoat.

Lizzy gave him a good luck hug there and then. They had agreed there should be no displays of encouragement in front of the servants, lest it all come to nothing. Then she followed him to the vestibule where he donned his greatcoat and beaver. Freddy intended to walk the short distance to St James's Street—to calm his nerves.

Now there was nothing for Lizzy to do but wait.

* * *

Freddy had agreed to meet his old friend from Oxford in Hatchard's bookshop. John Haldane, formerly of His Majesty's customs office, was one of the new gentlemen starting at the bank. They had not made a precise meeting place, but Freddy found his friend in the first place he looked, amongst the new volumes of poetry.

"Good to go?" asked Freddy.

"Certainly!" said John cheerfully as he reshelved his book. "I am looking forward to being able to buy the occasional one of these, instead of sneaking in here to read them! I expect Mr Hatchard will feel the same!"

"Is it a good one?" asked Freddy of the volume.

"Yes, it is Wordsworth. Have you heard of him?"

"Ah!" said Freddy. "I believe you read me one of his poems once, about daffodils... or was it about clouds? Devilish! Why don't you take that one now? Put it on my account!"

John made a token protest before accepting Freddy's gift. He felt a little naive for speaking so unguardedly. To his credit, he did not point out that the book was one of a two volume set.

Down at the counter, Mr Hatchard made a comment on Freddy's purchase.

"Widening your horizons, Mr Froome?" asked the proprietor who was quite disdainful of Freddy's taste in pirate books.

Freddy raised one eyebrow. "Just so!" he replied non-committally.

The book was wrapped in brown paper and string.

Then the two friends walked together to Brook's.

"Darcy said he would meet me in the Green Room," said Freddy as they were signing in.

John nodded and showed his friend to the correct door off the vestibule. "I'll be in the Oak Room, reading my book," said John, indicating a door on the opposite side of the room, "—should you care for company after your interview."

"Thanks," said Freddy. "I might be in need of a drink."

When Freddy entered the Green Room, it had not long ago struck half-past four. Despite his punctuality, he would not have been surprised to have been kept kicking his heels for half an hour or more in anticipation of his interview. It was a well known tactic in business to discompose the supplicant.

There were several others in the room, which often served as a meeting point, looking out as it did upon the street. To Freddy's surprise, Darcy was already there, leaning against the mantel of the fireplace, lost in thought. In abstraction, Darcy's face looked rather stormy. His expression did not bode well.

Darcy started forward but made no offer of his hand. "Shall we remove to somewhere a little more private?" asked Darcy.

Returning to the vestibule, Darcy led the way off down a hall, opening several doors in search of an empty room. On finding one in darkness, he took a candle from a branch in the hall to light the fresh ones inside before returning it to its place. He then ushered Freddy inside and closed the door behind them.

Looking around, Freddy saw the room was intended chiefly for a private party to play at cards.

"So, Mr Froome, what is your business?" asked Darcy rather tersely.

Inwardly Freddy sighed. Clearly Mr Darcy was not going to make things easy for him. Freddy had assured Georgie that she need not pre-empt the nature of the interview to her brother when passing on his request, but he had rather hoped Darcy would guess it from the attentions he had paid to Miss Darcy at the theatre and elsewhere.

Freddy cleared his throat. "You are likely aware that my father is gravely ill. Plans that I had only begun shaping are suddenly brought forward. No doubt you will think this application premature..."

"Fotherby giving you trouble?" interjected Darcy, obviously eager to get to the point. "I'm not sure that I can help. I've always reserved my money for pet projects—things that interested me. I'm not inclined to surrender it for the sole purpose of increasing it. No doubt you are keen to establish yourself as an able breadwinner and impress your cousin by rescuing your bank from decline..."

"My cousin?" echoed Freddy in bewilderment before hastily rearranging his mind to Darcy's world view. "Mr Darcy, this is not about business. I know I have not been very particular—I have only just realised the state of my own heart. My father has demanded that I marry before he departs this world, and I find that none of the eligible ladies who have entered my orbit during the last few years have really captivated me. When one has a mother as intelligent, beautiful and caring as my own, one finds oneself constantly making comparisons that fall lamentably short..."

Having made similar favourable comparisons between his own mother and Elizabeth since her acceptance into London society, Darcy felt the green demon of envy perch on his shoulder once more.

"One has to remind oneself that one is not looking for an exact likeness or a pale imitation," explained Freddy. "One has to distil the important elements—brilliance, vivacity and a certain carelessness for what other people think..."

Darcy began to wonder if Freddy Froome was determined to flaunt his victory in his face.

"Which is why, though she is a little young," continued Freddy, "I am sure that Miss Georgiana is that person."

Darcy's eyes opened wide in shock. "My sister?" he spluttered.

"Surely you marked my preference at the theatre and Almack's?" asked Freddy.

"I admit I was rather preoccupied during those events," admitted Darcy, his heart churning at the seismic rearrangement in his perception of the state of everything.

"My sister?" he echoed again. "Brilliant, vivacious... I think you will need to explain yourself, Mr Froome. Just what is 'brilliant' about my sister?"

Now it was Freddy's turn to stare in amazement. "Why, the way she plays the piano... She is a prodigy!"

"She plays well enough," said Darcy. "But it does go on for rather a long time. Are you prepared for that?"

Freddy was lost for words.

"And vivacious?" continued Darcy. "No, you will have to explain that one to me too."

"Why, the way she does a little dance when she is happy and claps her hands..." explained Freddy. "And the way she stamps her foot when she is displeased."

"I would call that childish," said Darcy frankly.

"You think I am making this up?" asked Freddy defensively.

"Oh, no!" said Darcy. "I can see that you are sincere. You will have to forgive me. This was unexpected. I gather then from your note— passed on as it was by Georgiana—that she is already aware of your preference?"

"Yes. I proposed to Georgie this morning before her piano lesson and she accepted."

"Well, that explains Bach's Fugue this afternoon," said Darcy thoughtfully.

"You must forgive me," Darcy continued. "This was rather unexpected. Just how long has this little romance been brewing?"

This was more along the line of questioning that Freddy had been expecting. "I cannot say that it has been brewing at all. Although I met Miss Darcy at several private balls last season I do not think I really noted her until she played at my mother's salon. I have since had a chance to talk to her informally at Mickleham House, whenever she has visited cousin Elizabeth. I find her altogether delightful."

Darcy rather thought Freddy had been receiving rather a distorted view of his sister—she did seem to brighten appreciably in Elizabeth's presence.

"But other than these 'stolen moments' and a few outings to the theatre, you have not spent much time together," stated Darcy.

"No," admitted Freddy. "As I said, had my father not fallen ill, I would have waited a little longer before declaring myself; spent some time actively wooing her."

Darcy turned away to look at the fire. "Mr Froome, you are going to have to give me time to think on this. I will need to talk to Georgie and consult with my aunt and uncle, the Earl and Countess of Matlock. The countess especially has been closely involved in Georgie's upbringing since our mother died."

"Of course," said Freddy. "If you should need to discuss any further matters to inform your decision—my circumstances, for instance—you need only summon me. I am currently staying at Mickleham House. Please do not think this has anything to do with Miss Georgiana's dowry. The bank is doing well and I have secured Lord Fotherby's continued patronage. I am even willing to forgo the dowry to prove the strength of my affection."

Darcy raised his eyebrows. "Would your father approve of that?" he asked.

"Probably not," Freddy laughed. "But I have more than a little of my mother in me, you know."

Darcy gave Freddy a speculative glance. "Very well. Expect to hear from me tomorrow, Mr Froome. I will not torture you any longer. Good day."

Darcy did not offer to shake hands. Then he was gone.

Freddy, who had really only pledged to have a drink with his friend as a thank you for his help, decided he really did need that drink after all.

* * *

Darcy walked home perturbed. How could he have been so self-absorbed as to have not anticipated this? On the whole, he felt quite negligent in his duties. He had been so fixated on seeking Elizabeth's company, he had failed to protect his sister's heart. At sixteen, she was bound to form any number of superficial attachments before settling on a suitable beau. It just hadn't occurred to Darcy that one had been forming under his very nose. Of course, provided the bank was not in danger of losing Lord Fotherby's patronage. Freddy Froome was very eligible. He might even soon be a baron. But...

Darcy arrived home and immediately called Georgie to his study. He heard her come racing down the stairs, two or three at a time to burst into his study.

"Well?" she blurted, quite out of breath.

"Georgie will you please adopt a more lady-like manner?" scolded Darcy. "Please shut the door." Then: "How long has this been going on?"

"He asked me this morning!" cooed Georgie, clasping her hands together. "Can I marry him please?"

"You haven't answered my question," said Darcy. "How long-standing is his interest?"

"Well, I have liked him ever so long—at least since Lady Mickleham's soirée. We chatted for quite a long time there about music and pirates," explained Georgie.

"Pirates?" echoed Darcy faintly in surprise.

"Then he requested a dance at Almack's—his was the first name I wrote on my dance card! I was ever so excited!"

"I thought that you danced with him quite late in the evening?" objected Darcy, "—after supper."

"That was because Caroline spoilt it all with her scheming!" fumed Georgie. "He was originally engaged to dance with me for the first! I thought he wouldn't ask me again after dealing him such a snub. But he did!"

"Hardly a mark of great devotion," pooh-poohed Darcy.

"Then he accompanied Elizabeth and I on our second visit to Bullock's museum..." said Georgie.

"How romantic!" whispered Darcy under his breath.

"He really liked it and said he would take me there again any time I wished it!"

"I see," said Darcy, revising down his opinion of Freddy Froome's taste.

"Plus he frequently comes in when Elizabeth and I are breakfasting together before our music lesson. He is the sweetest man I know!"

"Besides George Wickham?" asked Darcy, remembering similar words Georgie had spoken not a year ago at Ramsgate.

Georgie's face fell. "I realise I made a mistake there," she whispered. "George is not eligible."

"Nor was he ever 'sweet'," replied Darcy. "You do realise he ran off with another heiress in the New Year?—not six months after imposing on you."

Georgie paled. "Yes, Brother," she said meekly. "I was at the Bennet weddings when Elizabeth's friend relayed the news, remember? But perhaps it was a love match. Since we could not marry... I could not expect to engage George's affections forever."

"Nothing of the kind!" said Darcy scornfully. "Miss King was barely out of the schoolroom and the association between them was very brief. Her relatives removed her to Bath when it became evident that she had fallen under George's spell. But he pursued her there in the New Year and they eloped to Gretna Green."

"Oh!" said Georgie woodenly. "I suppose that explains why he did not come to the Bennet weddings."

Darcy merely harrumphed at this. He was not entirely guiltless of involvement in George's elopement—he had paid the miscreant to absent himself from Longbourn during the festivities, thus funding the whole debacle.

"The point is, Georgie, without even considering Mr Froome's eligibility, I am not sure your heart has settled."

"You are not going to say 'no' because of one stupid thing I did when I was barely out of the schoolroom?" moaned Georgie. "I cannot think of a single other gentleman who would suit me better than Freddy! Lady Mickleham would be such a comfortable mother–in–law. And I will get to be more with Elizabeth!"

Darcy's face hardened.

"I will talk to our uncle and aunt," he said. "But my current feeling is that it is too soon. I should like to see some constancy on both sides before endorsing the match."

"But you can't!" objected Georgie. "Freddy's father wants the matter settled before he goes! Freddy will have to marry Lady Mary Torrington or one of those other ladies whose mamas have been scheming for him!"

"For a chit out of the schoolroom, you seem remarkably well informed, Georgie," remarked Darcy. "Did Elizabeth tell you of these claims upon her cousin's heart?"

"Oh, Elizabeth does not like to gossip! It was my aunt who told me, so you need not think I am making it up!" said Georgie, stamping her foot. "Ask her yourself! But if you ruin my happiness with Freddy, I will never forgive you! Never!"

And with that, she ran sobbing* from the room.

Darcy sighed, but he was not one to give in to tears and tantrums when he thought he was in the right. It had been his intention to drive out to Richmond with Georgie to seek an audience with his aunt, but he did not fancy being cooped up with Georgie in a carriage while she engaged in histrionics. So he walked over to Matlock House, to catch his uncle before he went out raking for the night.

A quarter of an hour later, Darcy was admitted to his uncle's dressing room at Matlock House.

"Hello, Nevvy!" greeted the earl as his valet trimmed his eyebrows. "To what do I owe this extraordinary visit?"

"May we speak alone?" asked Darcy.

"Oh, don't mind Famble! He's as sound as a roast! Ain't you, Famble?

The valet indicated his willingness to be mute by a nod of his head.

The earl shifted his bulk in his chair and looked at Darcy expectantly.

"Georgie has received an offer for her hand," said Darcy primly.

"Well, its about time!" said the earl. "She's got the figure of a toast rack! I thought she would never go off! Who's the fellow?"

"Freddy Froome," replied Darcy.

"Ha! Baron's laying his succession plans, is he? Not bad... I must admit I was hoping for a higher title, but she'd be a lady and not want for anything—provided Fotherby don't fly off... What's she got to say on the topic?"

"She's for it," said Darcy. "But I think she's a little young."

"What's that got to do with it?" queried the earl as his valet settled his wig upon his head. "I married your aunt when she was sixteen..."

Those had been Darcy's qualms exactly.

"Better to get in early before Georgie develops that Darcy nose," speculated the earl as he stood up. "She's got a bit of a bump on it already.

"Care to accompany me, Darcy? I've a mind to try out that new brothel in Pall Mall."

"No, thank you," replied his nephew. "So that is your last word on Georgie?" Darcy prompted, trying valiantly to return to the subject.

"No," laughed the earl, walking out. "Here it is—word!"

And with that, the earl took himself off.

* * *

When Darcy arrived back at Darcy House, he fully expected Georgie to have recovered from her miff, but Farley informed him that his sister was still in her bedchamber and would not even admit her maid.

Darcy decided to let Georgie cool for a bit longer and went off to Richmond on his own.

His aunt was just dismounting one of her huge hunters as his carriage swept up to the front steps of the manor house.

She started as he stepped from the carriage. "What is this?" she exclaimed after peering round him to ascertain that Georgie was not also in the carriage. "The wrong Darcy!"

"I would have brought Georgie with me, Aunt," explained her nephew, "but she was feeling unwell."

"Nothing serious, I hope?" asked Lady Matlock, slightly alarmed.

"Not really. I do not intend to stay long. I have come for advice."

That did make Lady Matlock stop and stare. "Very well," she said, hoisting the skirts of her riding habit higher over one arm so that she might ascend the front steps. "You had better come in."

Lady Matlock's reception of the news was not so favourable as her husband's—she came from a very ancient family. "A newly created baron!" she sneered, overlooking the fact that Freddy would be the second Baron Mickleham. "Well, I supposed it cannot be helped! Georgie does say the most gauche things sometimes and has no idea how to charm a gentleman! I blame that puritanical governess you hired! At least Freddy Froome is well off! And I won't have to listen to that witch, Cecelia Torrington, crow over her victory! She has been eyeing him for Mary for a while now. The Torringtons are all to pieces!"

"I was concerned more by Georgie's youth," said Darcy, "and the strength of the attachment. You married young. Do you thing it is wise?"

"Are you implying that my marriage has been no bed of roses, Nephew? I do not regret it, Darcy! It was either the earl or the Duke of Exoset—and he drank himself into the grave by forty. I would have been a dowager by now if I had married the Duke! At least your uncle can hold his wine!"

"Do you forget the incident of George Wickham, Aunt? What if Georgie should change her mind in six months and create a scandal?"

"If she likes Freddy Froome now, just get it over and done with, Darcy!" replied Lady Matlock. "I'm sure he is a young man who has enough address to secure her affections permanently."

"And that is your final word?" said Darcy.

"Yes!" said Lady Matlock dismissively. "Do you intend to stay for dinner?"

* * *

Having declined his aunt's offer of food, Darcy went back to town, far from satisfied with his relatives' advice. He missed his father. Sometimes he felt he was the only adult left in his family. His aunt and uncle's advice seemed so superficial and self-involved.

He arrived back in Grosvenor Square by ten o'clock. The front braziers were lit in anticipation of his return. His housekeeper, Mrs Flowers, met him in the vestibule.

"I held dinner for you, sir," said the housekeeper, "in anticipation of your return. I hope I did not do wrong?"

"Has Georgiana eaten?" Darcy asked.

"No, sir. She is still not admitting anyone to her room, sir."

"Damn the girl!" snarled Darcy. "Just when she needs to be acting like a lady she reverts to a five-year old!"

Mrs Flowers started back. Mr Darcy rarely lost his temper in front of the servants. For a moment there, she had imagined herself back as a chambermaid in old Mr Darcy's household.

"I beg your pardon," said Darcy, more in his usual manner. "Please have dinner on the table in half an hour. I will talk to Georgie."

"Yes, sir," said Mrs Flowers, immediately descending to stoke the fires below stairs.

When Darcy ascended to his sister's bedchamber on the first floor, he found Celestine sitting forlornly in the deserted hall, like a dog that had been forgotten by its owner.

"You are relieved for a quarter of an hour, Celestine. I will talk to Georgie. Please come back downstairs to ready your mistress for dinner when the clock strikes the half hour."

"Yes, sir," said Celestine, glad to be dismissed.

Darcy knocked on the door. "Georgie, open up!" he demanded.

A key scraped in the lock. Georgie opened the door with her chin tilted defiantly to show red-rimmed eyes. Celestine was going to have her work cut out for her.

"Could we be private for a moment in your sitting room, Georgie?" asked Darcy.

Georgie gave a stiff nod and proceeded to the sitting room via the inner door of her bedchamber. She had locked that one too. Darcy walked down the hall to join her. Having entered the sitting room via the hall door, he closed it behind him.

"I have consulted with your aunt and uncle," said Darcy. "They have no objections to your marrying Mr Froome..."

Georgie looked up hopefully, surprised.

"But I still cannot like it," added Darcy. "I agree to your betrothal on one condition—that it is kept secret until your seventeenth birthday."

A smile broke out on Georgie's face.

"If on that day, you are still wishful to marry Mr Froome, then I will give you my blessing."

"Oh! Thank you, Brother!" said Georgie, flinging her arms around him.

Darcy stiffened uncomfortably. There were over ten years between himself and Georgie. He was not in the habit of great shows of affection. After a moment, Georgie released him.

"Now you will come downstairs to have dinner like a lady," said Darcy, stepping back.

"Yes, Brother," said Georgie meekly, before retreating to her bedchamber.

Just inside the door she could no longer restrain herself. "I am so happy!" she crowed, doing a little dance as she closed the interconnecting door.

Darcy sighed as Georgie disappeared. At least someone was, he reflected.

He went upstairs to tidy himself before dinner. Finn had everything ready.

In a matter of five minutes, Darcy's valet was flicking a last speck from his master's immaculate tailcoat with a brush. He still had a good five minutes before he needed to go downstairs. He supposed he had better relieve Mr Froome's anxiety, lest he add two numbers incorrectly at his bank on the morrow.

"Thank you, Finn," said Darcy. "I wish to send a note off before I go down to dinner. Will you give it to a footman?"

"Certainly, sir," replied his valet.

Darcy sat down at a writing desk, opening his inkwell.

 _Dear Mr Froome,_

 _I have decided to accede to your proposal, with two conditions, which I will convey to you in person. I trust, as a man of honour, you will have no difficulty complying with my wishes, as they are in the best interests of both parties,_

 _Yours faithfully_

 _Fitzwilliam A. Darcy._

Descending to the dining room, Darcy found Georgie was before him. Celestine had managed to hide the red rims of Georgie's eyes, but she had been unable to do anything about their slightly puffy appearance. Darcy wondered for just how many hours his sister had cried.

They managed to conduct polite conversation throughout dinner until the soup was removed from the table and replaced by two dessert dishes. However, before the footman could serve Miss Georgie with her selection, a loud knock was heard at the front door.

Darcy frowned. The last time someone had knocked on his door at so ungodly an hour, it had been Bingley.

Farley came into the room to whisper in his master's ear. Darcy scowled and requested Farley to show the visitor to his study.

"Excuse me, Georgie," said Darcy, rising from his chair. "I must deal with this."

Entering his study, Darcy surveyed his guest with disapproval.

"My intention in writing to you tonight, sir, was to relieve your mind so that you might sleep soundly. I did not expect you banging on my door."

Standing near the unlit hearth, Freddy looked uncomfortable. "I beg your pardon, Mr Darcy, but circumstances forced my hand. I assure you I was discreet. I took a hackney to your door and waited till the driver went off before mounting the steps so that the carriage lights might not illuminate me. As gas lighting has not yet been installed in the Square, I doubt anyone saw me knocking on your door."

"My sister is not yet abed, Mr Froome. You risked a scene in front of the servants. She is 'aux anges' at the moment and likely to do any number of silly things if she catches sight of you. Why did you feel it necessary to come here?"

"I have good reason, which I will give you in a moment," explained Freddy. "But firstly, may I ask what your two conditions are?"

Darcy blinked at Freddy's turning his question, but accepted it. He had to admire the younger man's composure.

"Because you have been forced to declare yourself prematurely, I must ask that the betrothal be kept secret until Georgie's seventeenth birthday, to allow you both time to withdraw if you find yourselves mistaken in your affections," said Darcy.

Freddy nodded. "That is sensible. Agreed. And the second?"

"You suggested it yourself, Mr Froome. I have always been worried by the very large dowry of thirty thousand pounds my Father intended for my sister. I have had to guard her from knaves like the Viscount Aldley. If you are truly devoted to my sister I ask that you take only ten thousand pounds on her marriage, with the residue to be paid on her twenty-first birthday."

"You know I am willing to forgo the full amount," said Freddy.

"Those were your words earlier today," said Darcy. "However, I cannot accept those terms. It would not be in the spirit of my father's intentions. Indeed, if news of such an arrangement got out, I might be accused of depriving my sister of what is rightfully hers."

"I understand," said Freddy. "I accept both your conditions, but I have one of my own."

Darcy raised his eyebrows in surprise. Freddy Froome was a very cool fish.*

"Name it," said Darcy.

"My father has had a second stroke. Our doctor does not think he will last the night. He is still cogent. Let me take Georgie to him so that he knows we are bound."

"I am afraid such an action would risk my first condition, Mr Froome."

"Not at all," replied Freddy. "Let Georgie come with her maid for an overnight stay, as she did once before. Let it be said that my cousin Elizabeth was overcome—she has agreed to this. No one will think it strange in the circumstances. Elizabeth's bedchamber communicates internally with my mother's bedchamber and thus my father's. Georgie can enter and leave without any of the servants being aware."

"It seems you have thought of everything Mr Froome," said Darcy. "In the circumstances, I think it will be best if I take you and Georgie to Mickleham House in my own carriage."

"I would not wish to unnecessarily disturb you," said Freddy.

"I am never disturbed when my duty is clear, Mr Froome. I will go to my club afterwards."

Thus Georgie was called to the study and Darcy left the lovers alone for a few minutes so they might confirm the betrothal and make their plans.

Georgie acquiesced to Freddy's request for her removal to Mickleham House for the night. After running upstairs to pack a few necessities, Georgie returned a quarter an hour later with a tired-looking Celestine. The Darcy coach arrived at the front door not ten minutes later and they all entered it for the short drive to Piccadilly.

After the initial excitement of having her dearest wish fulfilled after hours of trepidation followed by a similar period of near despair, Georgie was feeling a little emotionally hollow as she followed Freddy up the internal stairs of the great gallery.

Elizabeth appeared in a dressing gown, her hair tied up in rags, to draw Georgie into her bedchamber. While Celestine began to lay out her mistress's night things in the dressing room, Elizabeth drew Georgie into the sitting room to give her quiet congratulations.

"Oh, Elizabeth. I do not think I have ever been so happy in my life!"

Elizabeth kissed her and gave her a hug, assuring Georgie that she thought Freddy would be the perfect husband.

Not long after, Lady Mickleham entered from her bedchamber.

"There you are, my dear!" she said, embracing Georgie. "I could not have asked for a better daughter! Are you ready? The baron is sinking fast. He cannot speak but he may choose to squeeze your hand. You will be brave?"

Georgie nodded her head obediently.

Then the servants were sent away. Elizabeth and Lady Mickleham escorted Georgie through to the master's bedchamber where the baron lay dying under his great canopy.

Freddy was waiting for her there. He took Georgie's hand and brought her forward. They both knelt upon two chairs that had been drawn up against the high bed.

"Here she is, Father," said Freddy. "Miss Darcy has agreed to be my wife."

The baron turned his head to look at them. His lips stretched into something like a grimace. He reached his hand out, but placed it on Georgie's forehead, like a benediction. For a moment he held it there like that.

Then Freddy reached out to remove his father's arm and lay it beside him. The baron's eyes were closed. Standing up, Freddy pulled Georgie away from the bed and escorted her back to Elizabeth, who waited at the bedchamber door.

"Is he gone?" Georgie asked Freddy sympathetically.

"No," whispered Freddy. "But it will not be long now. Thank you. Go to bed."

He squeezed her hand.

Georgie nodded and followed Elizabeth away. Freddy looked so sad. She was glad she had not had to watch either of her parents die.

After curling up beside Elizabeth in bed, Georgie fell instantly asleep. It had been a big day.

When she woke in the morning, Georgie found herself alone in the bed. She could hear some activity in the dressing room, so she called out:

"Elizabeth?"

Celestine appeared at the doorway. "Would you like your hot chocolate now, ma'am?"

"What time is it?" asked Georgie. "Have I missed my piano lesson?"

"Miss Elizabeth sent a message to Signor Pastroni that you would not be coming today," replied her maid.

Before Georgie had time to digest this, there was a knock and Elizabeth walked into the room, wearing black.

"Oh!" said Georgie. "Is the baron gone then?"

"Yes," said Elizabeth. "He left us just before sunrise. Aunt Sempronia and Freddy were with him."

Instead of having her chocolate in bed, Georgie dressed and went downstairs with Elizabeth to take breakfast with the family. Georgie had no black in her wardrobe, but Celestine had had the forethought to pack a lilac gown, which Georgie donned.

Lady Mickleham was in the room taking coffee.

"Are you all right, ma'am?" asked Georgie. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Just warm us with your presence, Georgie," replied Lady Mickleham. "That is enough."

The door opened and into the room stepped the second Baron Mickleham, looking very handsome despite the purple rings under his eyes.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

Ordinary—something like a French prix-fixe menu, ie a meal of several courses but of limited choice, as compared to á la carte.

Sobbing—Georgette Heyer would have written 'incontinent', but I doubt modern readers will let me get with that.

aux anges—with the angels, blissfully happy.

Cool fish—unemotional, a variant on cool fish, from Shakespeare.


	34. The mourning after

**Thanks to _alix33_ , _beaty_ and _oddybobo_ for corrections.**

 **Georgie's dowry in Pride and Prejudice was £30,000, not £50,000. There was no conscious decision on my part to change this.**

 **Just a reminder, if you wish to be in the running for winning one of my books, you need to be logged in to post your review. Otherwise I can't verify who you are or contact you if win.**

 **Another advantage of logging in, is your review appears immediately whereas it takes a few days to appear if you are not logged in.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 33 were:**

 **"Tears and tantrums", "Superficial and self-involved" by _alix33_ ,**

 **"Dark Nights and Warm Lights" by _FatPatricia515_ ,**

 **"Mourning Begins" by _Kaohing_ ,**

 **"Rest in Peace" by _suddenlysingle_ ,**

 **"Love and sorrow", "Joy and sorrow", "Happiness and sorrow", "Love and death" by _marieantoinette1_ ,**

 **"Coming Together" by _nanciellen_ ,**

 **"Death Becomes Us" by _EmilyWoods_ ,**

 **"Froome Dust to Dust," by _ByrintheBookWookie_ ,**

 **"Joyous Mourning" by _angelicsailor_ ,**

 **"To and Fro; The best laid plans; A cool fish; Unpredictable" by _beaty_ ,**

 **"Conditions of Endearment" by _Lee36_ ,**

 **"When you love somebody, set them free" by _vaarin_ ,**

 **"With my blessings" by _guest_ ,**

 **"Circle of life", "At last", "My lonely days are over" by _guest_ ,**

 **"winds of change" by nandamesser**

 **Some really great suggestions! I really liked "A cool fish" by _beaty_. I think I will go with "Terms of endearment" based on the suggestion by _Lee36_.**

* * *

 **Chapter 34 The mourning after**

In the afternoon, Elizabeth returned Georgie to Darcy House in her carriage. She declined to accompany her friend inside. Darcy was conspicuously absent as his sister alighted from the coach—only a footman and the aged retainer, Farley, came out to assist Miss Darcy. To Georgie's enquiry, Farley replied that her brother was dealing with correspondence in the study, which slightly annoyed Elizabeth. She took his absence as a snub.

A hatchment* was placed above the door of Mickleham House for the first time ever. Although it had long been the ambition of the baron to be buried in Westminster Abbey, after consultation with members of the clergy, it was agreed that only a service would be held there. The baron would be laid to rest at Mickleham Park—an estate he had rarely ever visited. As the estate had originally been purchased from a noble family fallen on hard times, the family tomb was to be his initial resting place until a new mausoleum for the Froomes could be constructed.

The memorial service was well attended by gentlemen of the departed baron's acquaintance, but Lady Mickleham and Elizabeth were the only ladies present. It was strange to hear Freddy hailed as 'Baron' and 'Mickleham' as gentlemen expressed their condolences. Elizabeth reflected it was like getting married—losing one's identity to wake up as a stranger with a different name. As she listened to the service, the parallels became increasingly apparent to her. All her sympathies were extended to Freddy, who had had his former life ripped away to start this new one in his father's shoes. Exiting the abbey, Elizabeth saw Darcy standing with a group of gentlemen among whom she recognised several members of Brook's club from behind her black veil. He did not approach.

After Freddy handed her into the baron's coach, which had been brought out for the occasion, she risked glancing in Darcy's direction as the coach drew away. He seemed to be looking at her, but did not tip his hat or in anyway acknowledge her.

Elizabeth sighed as she settled back in her seat. She had been relieved that their contretemps at Hunsford had not ruined Freddy's chances with Georgiana. She had even hoped that it might result in a call by Darcy at Mickleham House. But nothing had eventuated.

Life continued, dominated by changes brought about by the baron's death. Mostly these involved the internal restructuring of the bank but there was also the baron's tomb to build. It had been Freddy's intention to take charge of the latter arrangements to spare his mother the pain of doing so. But Lady Mickleham declared herself equal to the task and begged Freddy to focus on the necessary changes at the bank. He continued to occupy the guest room at Mickelham House and talked of giving up his rooms at The Albany. But these domestic arrangements were of secondary importance in the face of the complex rejigging at the bank.

Mr Peabody proved difficult, continually going back to the baron's ways of doing things despite being instructed multiple times by Freddy in the new system. Freddy hardly knew if the old fellow was being deliberately intransigent, hoping to wear him down, or whether it was a case of not being able to teach an old dog new tricks. In the end, Sempronia set up a desk in the study so that she might properly attend to things that Peabody was neglecting. Mr Shipley brought papers from the City whenever Freddy was engaged with other business. He was enormously helpful to Lady Mickleham in Freddy's absence.

The six weeks of mourning seemed to drag on forever. After missing one day, Georgie had returned to her piano lessons. But after discussing the matter with her aunt, Lizzy agreed to forgo all her lessons for the duration. So Georgie did not visit Elizabeth daily as had been her custom in the past. The friends were reduced to sending notes to each other by footmen to arrange the occasional afternoon tea. These were always at Mickleham House, to allow Freddy to clandestinely join them. The two lovers held hands under the table so the servants might not see, though from clandestine smiles erased on entering the room, Elizabeth was fairly sure they did.

After the first three weeks of trying to support her aunt but feeling largely superfluous, Elizabeth voiced a wish to visit her aunt Gardiner.

"Oh, my dear!" said Lady Mickleham. "I am so sorry! Mourning is such a tedious business to observe! Of course, you should visit your aunt! Hopefully, I will be done with these endless revisions to the design of the baron's tomb in a week's time and can be of more use to you. In fact, I should get out more. Go to your aunt's today and I will walk in the park with you tomorrow!"

So Elizabeth went and became considerably more enlightened on just how Mr Darcy had improved Mary's situation—Mrs Gardiner had received numerous letters from Mrs Bennet on the topic.

For one thing, there was more information on the large copper bath that Lady Catherine had gifted to the parsonage. It had been done after her nephew had presented her with one of the more fashionable roll-top kind. The new bath had been installed in the box room upstairs, presumably the room Madeleine had occupied during Elizabeth's stay. Mary had made instant use of the bath, but despite Lady Catherine's endorsement, Mr Collins could not immediately bring himself to do so.

The chicken pox had eventually changed his mind. Tormented by the relentless itching, he had finally given in to Mary's promptings to seek relief in the water.

Lady Catherine had also endorsed the return of the parsonage's former housekeeper after being served lukewarm tea during one of her visits to the parsonage. Although it had been Lady Catherine's original resolve to be done with Betsy, Mr Darcy reminded her that Mrs Dickson had retired because she had deemed herself too old to take charge of a bachelor household—that keeping Betsy might be integral to coaxing the old housekeeper to resume her service. Thus it turned out to be. Mrs Dickson had the rheumatism but was able to manage with Betsy to fetch and carry. Meals at the parsonage were now as good as they had been at Longbourn.

Finally, Mr Darcy had retained a part-time footman from the village—to carry the water for the bathtub and chop wood. He was a rough village boy but Mrs Dickson was teaching him manners, such as remembering to leave his clogs at the door and don house slippers upon coming inside.

Mr Collins had initially been too woebegone and itchy to complain much of the extra expense of hiring the footman. Upon his recovery, Mary had tried to reconcile him to the change by pointing out how the money spent on food had actually decreased since Mrs Dickson had arrived, presumably due to much wastage in the past. But on getting into his garden again, the clergyman became resolved to the newcomer on discovering they shared a passion for bees. He had found a disciple.

"And so how are things going at Mickleham House?" asked Mrs Gardiner as she poured her niece another cup of tea. "Is Freddy to move from The Albany?"

"I think he will, once the period of mourning has passed," replied Elizabeth. "Although I expect he will wish to change things around. He does not like the huge canopy over the baron's bed—he finds it oppressive."

The rest of the visit was taken up with playing with the Gardiner children who had all survived the chicken pox with only one or two pockmarks on their faces for the experience.

Elizabeth went home considerably puzzled. From his lack of communication, she had been certain she had lost Mr Darcy's admiration. He had not called on her aunt Sempronia after the baron's death, but merely sent a card of condolence. He might have visited Mickleham House, just to give his sister a chance to see Freddy, but he had not come. Nor had he approached Elizabeth at the memorial service.

So to find that he had exerted himself on Mary's behalf after all, and so extensively, had come as a considerable surprise. Of course, Lizzy reflected, she should have suspected that Lady Catherine would not have given the bath to Mary of her own accord. The grand dame certainly did not possess a generous heart.

Finally the period of mourning was over and Elizabeth resumed her lessons. Georgie came every morning to breakfast with her before they went off to piano together. Of course, despite his many commitments, Freddy resumed his habit of joining them during Georgie's visits whenever he was able.

But a cloud appeared on Georgie's horizon two weeks after the resumption of lessons, when Darcy revealed it was his intention to withdraw to Pemberley as usual for the harvest. In vain did Georgie argue that she could stay with her aunt Matlock at Richmond, so that she might still see Elizabeth and Freddy regularly.

The problem came to a head one day when Elizabeth intended another visit to her aunt Gardiner in the afternoon. Discovering her friend's plans at breakfast, Georgie petitioned to be allowed to convey her friend to Cheapside in the Darcy carriage. Having established that routine for Mary's wedding dress, Elizabeth was willing enough to concede. So the pair of them went off together after their piano lesson.

Mrs Gardiner, of course, gave Georgie another shoulder to cry on about her imminent removal from London. Mrs Gardiner was all sympathy but soon set to convincing Georgie she was the most privileged of beings.

"But, my dear, Derbyshire is the most delightful place in all of England! I have such happy memories of growing up there! I have been wanting to go back to visit my relatives ever so long! Every year Mr Gardiner says we will go and every year something happens to prevent it, whether it is a ship docking late or an important order. At this rate, the boys will be full-grown before their aunts get to see them!"

This did not reconcile Georgie to her fate in the way Mrs Gardiner had hoped for.

"What a wonderful idea!" cried Georgie. "You and Elizabeth and Freddy must accompany us! How jolly we will all be at Pemberley!"

"Oh, no!" declared Elizabeth, her mind filled with Darcy. She was aghast at the awkwardness of it. "Freddy has so much work at the bank! We couldn't possibly."

But Mrs Gardiner was warming to the idea. "Well, perhaps Freddy, like Mr Gardiner, might not be able to spare the time, but you and I could travel with the Darcys, Elizabeth. We could go in your carriage. I could take the boys to see their aunts in Lambton, and you could stay with Miss Darcy at Pemberley."

"Oh, no!" said Elizabeth. "I couldn't possibly! Such a generous offer! But my aunt Sempronia still needs me here. She is only just out of mourning and there are so many changes being implemented at the bank!"

Elizabeth was sure Darcy would be just as keen to avoid them being thrown together. But both of them were in the invidious position of not being able to openly declare their objections.

The seed had been planted and both Georgie and Mrs Gardiner were invested in making it grow.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

hatchment—large tablet, typically diamond-shaped, bearing the coat of arms of someone who has died, displayed in their honourearly 16th century: probably from obsolete French hachement, from Old French acesmement 'adornment'. See Pinterest board.


	35. The reluctant tourist

**Suggestions for the title of chapter 34 were:**

 **"Planting and Harvesting at Pemberley" by** ** _FatPatricia515_** **,**

 **"Upcoming Mortification" by** ** _Kaohing_** **,**

 **"Harvest" by** ** _marieantoinette1_** **,**

 **"A Second Offer" by** ** _Windchimed_** **,**

 **"Always on her mind" by** ** _justafan2111_** **,**

 **"Private moments" by guest,**

 **"There but not there" ( like how Darcy is always on her mind, but not actually there... not super creative, but only one that I could think of.. )**

 **"To water the plant or not?" by** ** _NotACursedChild_** **,**

 **"Tears after the mourning", "Lively mourning (or is it "lifely" meaning to live while mourning?), "Mourning and planting" by** ** _beaty_**

 **I think I'll go with "The mourning after", following the suggestions by** ** _beaty_** **.**

* * *

 **Chapter 35 The reluctant tourist**

Georgie and Mrs Gardiner proved too much for Lizzy. It was like sailing against the tide. Georgie just couldn't stop talking about the projected trip—all the fun they would have together! Mrs Gardiner spoke of her relatives with such fond remembrance that Lizzy felt positively churlish in showing no enthusiasm for the project. And when Mr Gardiner discovered that Miss Darcy was insisting that everyone stay at Pemberley, he suddenly found time in his very busy schedule to take his first vacation since getting married.

Letters flew back and forth to Derbyshire. Mrs Gardiner's aunts were ecstatic at the prospect!

Of course, Mrs Gardiner was a little worried about the conduct of her children at Pemberley. What if the Darcys should have expensive Chinese or French porcelain? The problem had only to be raised to be solved. The unmarried aunts volunteered to take the children—it would be a pleasure!—and all was settled on their end.

At Mickleham House, things were more up in the air. Freddy did not think he could spare the time from the bank but was very worried that Georgie would be offended. But even if Freddy could not make it, Aunt Sempronia suggested that Elizabeth should take the opportunity to visit a grand country house when Georgie first raised the prospect. All the Ton did it! She had arrived!

Sempronia had been rather worried about her niece lately—she had not been her chirpy self since returning from Hunsford. Of course, Sempronia had at first naturally attributed that to the baron's illness—she had been too preoccupied with nursing her husband to give it a second thought. But when the baron died, Sempronia finally realised that her niece was not happy and she suspected something had occurred at Hunsford.

Upon questioning, Elizabeth had confided to her aunt of her dismal failure to fix Mary's woes. But Sempronia was not convinced, and when Elizabeth showed remarkable aversion to Georgie's proposal, Lady Mickleham began to suspect that Mr Darcy might have something to do with it—her niece had parted with remarkably little information on their interactions in Kent.

The problem came to a head one morning when Elizabeth and Sempronia were together in the breakfast room, waiting for Georgiana to join them for Signor Pastroni's lessons. Through the big bay window, they saw the Darcy carriage arrive. A footman jumped down from the back of the coach and Georgie stepped out. But, she was not alone. Following her out of the carriage came her brother.

Elizabeth positively started. "I think I will change my bonnet," she said, standing up. "The one I have brought down is too ornate."

"You need only ring for Madeleine if you think so, my dear," said Lady Mickleham knowingly. "But I cannot see a problem with it—your gown matches it admirably."

Elizabeth realised she was being entirely unreasonable. She would have to confront Mr Darcy again at some point and it was better to get it over and done with. Sighing, she sat down again, avoiding her aunt's eye.

Georgie and Mr Darcy were announced. Both ladies stood up to greet them. Darcy followed his greetings with enquiries on the state of Lady Mickleham's spirits before coming to the point.

"I cannot stay for long, Lady Mickleham," said Darcy gravely. "I have business in the City. I wanted to personally extend my invitation to Pemberley to you, as well as to your son and your niece, lest there be any doubt of my endorsement of the project."

Lady Mickleham smiled. "Thank you, Mr Darcy. I am not sure both Freddy and I will make it—one of us must stay to ensure things are running smoothly at the bank. But rest assured, the other will be heading north with Elizabeth. We thank you greatly for the invitation."

And that was that.

Darcy went off and there was much consternation on Elizabeth's part when he stepped past his carriage on the street to hail an hackney, for Elizabeth could have sent for her own carriage for Georgie and herself.

Her aunt Sempronia watched Elizabeth's expostulations with a knowing eye.

Elizabeth arrived at the Gardiners' that day to discover that Darcy had also sent a letter of invitation to Gracechurch Street.

The die had been cast. All that remained to be determined was exactly who from the Mickleham household should accompany Elizabeth north.

In the end, it was John Shipley who tipped the balance. John was, of course, the only one outside of Freddy's family who was aware of his friend's secret engagement to Miss Darcy. Although Freddy had not disclosed Darcy's condition regarding Georgie's dowry to John, his friend knew about the 'clause of constancy', as he called it. Thus, John realised the importance of the proposed 'jaunt' to Derbyshire.

Freddy was torn between his commitment to Miss Darcy and his duties at the bank. After all, he would hardly be an eligible suitor in nine months' time if his bank failed.

"You know that is hardly likely, Freddy," said John. "The biggest risk is if one of the other new fellows should take too much upon himself while you are away. You can trust me and your other best banker to keep an eye on the fort."

"My other best banker?" replied Freddy in bemusement. "You are not talking of Peabody? I am nigh on ready to strangle him!"

John laughed. "No, stupid! Your mother! She's the best damned banker I have ever come across! I never knew she was involved in the day-to-day business before I started here. I thought she just did the social end of things—running her soirées and all that. Was her father a banker?"

"Heavens, no! She was born a lady. She only became involved in the nuts and bolts once Father was housebound. But I suppose Father confided in her for years. She has always been aware of the bank's major deals."

"Well, I suppose that explains it," said John. "You may think yourself indispensable, Freddy. But I think we can get on well enough without you for a few weeks. And if you want to make yourself useful, you could take a side trip to assess the collateral for that Newham loan in Manchester."

"What a good idea!" said Freddy, a smile dawning in his face.

* * *

Although it had been Georgiana's hope that they might all set out together, commitments on the part of both Freddy and Mr Gardiner delayed the visitors. They followed the Darcys north three weeks later.

Freddy and Elizabeth travelled in her coach with their servants, while the Gardiners went to Longbourn in their own coach before hiring a post-chaise for the longer journey. The Gardiners brought an extra trunk of stuffs as far as Longbourn, some as a gift to Fanny. There was silk for Lydia and Kitty who, after Mary's marriage, considered themselves next in line to the altar—even if Lizzy was Miss Bennet, everyone knew she aspired to be a spinster! The bulk of the fabric had been ordered by Jane, silk and muslin, for her condition had exceeded all her existing gowns.

The two parties set out separately to rendezvous at Hampstead at ten o'clock, before proceeding onto Longbourn for lunch.

It was Freddy's first introduction to his cousins. Mrs Bennet was charmed, raising her eyebrow speculatively at Elizabeth. Elizabeth replied to this with a small shake of her head, to which her mother rolled her eyes heavenward in exasperation. Mrs Bennet then went to work on her younger daughters. Lydia was not at all interested in her cousin, even if he was a baron—she was still obsessed with redcoats. So she stoutly ignored her mother's winks. Kitty, on the other hand, could not make any sense of them.

"What is the matter, Mother?" complained Kitty. "I am holding my fork in the correct hand!"

Freddy exchanged an amused glance with Elizabeth, which considerably relieved her. It was always so awkward when her mother was gauche.

Jane was blooming and even Mr Bingley had acquired a more well rounded form. In fact, he looked considerably more handsome now that he was less gaunt, and somehow taller. Obviously marriage agreed with them both.

* * *

The journey north took three days. It was largely uneventful, though Toby became dreadfully ill in the bounding post-chaise on the first leg and had to be transferred to Elizabeth's coach, which had far better suspension. He tolerated the second and third days much better in Lizzy's carriage after recovering from losing his lunch on the first.

The scenery was of immense interest to Elizabeth, having never travelled further north than Luton in her life. It felt marvellously liberating to be cruising along in her own coach—she might go anywhere! The rolling hills around Derby were infinitely charming—so different to the flatter landscapes of Hertfordshire and Kent. But when they transitioned to the more rugged hills and forests beyond Derby, she could not imagine a place more beautiful—it was like the stuff of fairy tales.

"Personally, I prefer the Lake District," said Mr Gardiner jovially during one of their stops. "The water views are unparalleled!"

"Then it is a pity you did not take me there during our honeymoon as you promised," said Mrs Gardiner.

Mr Gardiner looked sheepish. Being taken into partnership by his mentor had finally convinced Margaret's father to let him wed his sweetheart. But it had come with extra duties, which had precluded his wish to return to the Lake District briefly with his new wife. Edward's father had hailed from Cumberland and Mr Gardiner retained happy childhood memories of it.

On the afternoon of the third day, they finally arrived in the village of Lambton, a charming place with a medieval bridge, built over the river Wye.

Both carriages stopped briefly at the White Swan inn, where the Gardiners descended from the post-chaise, intending to take a conventional coach with a brake for the last leg to Pemberley, which they had been warned contained a steep decline. As Mrs Gardiner's aunts lived nearby, the Gardiners walked on to the cottage, carrying the boys' trunk between them, while the remaining luggage was transferred to the new vehicle. Toby escaped from Lizzy's coach to join his brothers, skipping behind his parents. Sticking his head out the window, Freddy instructed his coachman to follow closely behind.

They had not taken a nuncheon after breakfast that day, to save time in their journey, merely feeding the children from a picnic basket when their tummies grumbled. As Mrs Gardiner expected, her aunts, Miss Matty* and Miss Emmy, had prepared a cold collation, more in the nature of a feast. The adults all sat down to tea in the aunts' cramped front parlour while the boys, freed from the confines of the carriage, circumnavigated the cottage repeatedly, yelling "hello!" at the window every time they passed. Their energy was boundless.

The spinster aunts doted on Freddy—such a handsome young man!—doling out an extra slice of apple cake for him, which he found difficult to politely refuse.

As soon as could be deemed polite, Mrs Gardiner signalled her husband to suggest that they should be off.

"Oh, yes!" concurred Miss Matty, "You should go before the sun sets. The descent from the gatehouse is dreadfully steep and I think only Mr Darcy's coachman himself would attempt it after dark"

"Most certainly!" shuddered Miss Emmy. "I always used to close my eyes when we attended on public days. Thankfully the gatekeeper told us of the old entrance from the north, which suits my sensibilities so much better! But that journey does add a further ten miles."

Mrs Gardiner promised to return in the subsequent days to visit them. Secretly, she worried whether her aunts would be able to keep pace with her children. But under no circumstances was she giving up her chance to stay as a guest at Pemberley.

The boys were hugged and told to be good for their aunts, to which they all stoutly replied, "We will!" in chorus.

Off the travellers went across the bridge, with the hired coach leading the way. For reasons she was not entirely able to fathom, Elizabeth's heart pounded loudly in her chest. The leafy drive should have been a pleasant one—Elizabeth only wished that she could have enjoyed it.

Finally they turned in at a gatehouse, where the gatekeeper gave instructions to Freddy's coachman on how to navigate the drive and best employ the brake. The coachman pledged to follow the wheel ruts of the local man ahead and generally follow his lead.

Once they reached the edge of the valley, Lizzy saw the need of all this caution, when the land inclined sharply away below to the wide valley floor. The descent consisted of a series of switchbacks.

They had navigated the first of these successfully when the house came into view through the trees. Elizabeth gasped in astonishment. Something like regret for a moment stole into her heart, to be quickly banished by her head and thoroughly scolded for being so mercenary. She was briefly reminded of that impoverished lady, snubbed at the Meryton assembly, with only her fourth portion of her mother's meagre dowry. Lizzy might now have ten thousand a year, but her most valuable possession was the carriage she sat in, while Mr Darcy lived in that.

"Egads!" exclaimed Freddy. "It is a palace! It positively puts St James to shame!"

He began to think that perhaps he had been rather presumptuous in setting his cap at Miss Darcy.

"I have only ever seen sketches of Versailles," whispered Elizabeth, "but I think it is something approaching it in grandeur."

Only Freddy's valet retained his dignity. Madeleine's mouth was open in a round 'o'.

The descent was accomplished without incident. The carriages swept into the drive.

Georgiana appeared, dwarfed between the columns of the portico. She flew down the steps with her gown billowing behind her to greet them.

By the time Elizabeth's coach had come to a halt, Darcy had followed his sister down the steps at a more measured pace to hand Elizabeth out.

"Welcome to Pemberley, Miss Bennet," he said gravely.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

Matty—Mathilda


	36. Stuck in the middle

**A little milestone passed. Thank you for making _Cinder Lizzy_ one of my most successful stories to date, with a record number of followers.**

 **Don't forget to read _Go Down Red Roses._ It will be taken down when it reaches 500,000 reviews or there is no review for a month. Not as many people have read _GDRR_ as my usual stories, perhaps it was a little gothic. Interestingly it had more favourites per reader than any of my other stories. So the people who did read it, liked it. **

**Suggestions for the title of chapter 35 were:**

 **"Onward and Upward" by** ** _Kaohing_** **,**

 **"Journeying North" by** ** _FatPatricia515_** **,**

 **"Jaunting North to Pemberley" by** ** _Julyza_** **,**

 **"Pemberley they were to go",**

 **"The Long and Winding Road",**

 **"Great Expectations" by** ** _suddenlysingle_** **,**

 **"there she goes again" by** ** _nandamesser_** **,**

 **"Descent Into Magnificence" by** ** _Deanna27_** **,**

 **"Crossing the Rubicon' or again use your phrase 'Welcome to Pemberley' by** ** _ilex_** **-** ** _ferox_** **,**

 **"Homecoming", "Handsome prospects" by** ** _guest_** **,**

 **"Please stay with me" by** ** _guest_** **,**

 **"Downhill from here" by** ** _guest_** **,**

 **"On to Pemberley" by** ** _guest_**

 **I decided to go with "The reluctant tourist", inspired by** ** _FatPatricia515_** **'s entry, the first on this theme.**

* * *

 **Chapter 36 Stuck in the middle**

After general introductions, the guests were invited inside while the servants dealt with the luggage.

Matching its Palladian* appearance, the layout of the house was very much in the grand style, with the ground floor devoted to servants and deliveries. After mounting the steps to the first floor, the travellers found themselves in a double-height vestibule surmounted by a dome pierced with windows. A grand staircase wound round the curved walls to an elliptical gallery on the second floor.

A neatly dressed, diminutive old woman in a cap approached them. Despite her stature, a watch pinned to her waistband marked her as the most important of servants—the housekeeper.

"Would the visitors like to take tea before retiring to their rooms, Mr Darcy?" she asked. "Or would they prefer a tray delivered to their chambers?"

"Very good, Mrs Reynolds," said Darcy, before looking at Freddy enquiringly. "Lord Mickleham?"

"Thank you, I have just taken tea in Lambton with the Gardiners' relatives, so I am fine until dinner, but perhaps the ladies or Mr Gardiner would like some refreshment?"

The ladies replied they were also fine, while an uncharacteristically overawed Mr Gardiner concurred with a nod of his head.

"Dinner is usually at eight o'clock at this time of year," said Darcy. "But Mrs Reynolds assures me that she can bring it forward today, if needed."

"Eight is fine with me," offered Freddy, looking at his companions again for their opinions.

There was general agreement.

"Excellent," said Darcy. "You will be reminded by the dressing gong an half-hour before dinner. We will assemble in the vestibule tonight so that you may be shown the way, but thereafter we shall meet in the dining room. If you will come this way, I will show you to your chambers."

He turned to lead the way up the stairs.

Mr Gardiner exchanged a surprised glance with his wife at Mr Darcy's condescension. He had expected the housekeeper to take charge of them.

Although the visitors had thus far conducted themselves during their journey upon the most equal of terms, something about Pemberley or its host now made them most conscious of protocol. They all turned to Freddy to lead the way as a peer of the realm.

Indicating to Miss Darcy that she should accompany her brother, Freddy offered his arm to Elizabeth, then followed his fiancée up the stairs. The Gardiners trailed behind, with Mrs Reynolds bringing up the rear. They circumnavigated a quarter of the gallery to the left.

Oversized family portraits and landscapes graced the walls in gilt frames. No racehorses or hunters were memorialised—the only dog Elizabeth saw was a pet in a grouping of children. Clearly the Darcys were not sporting mad, as were so many of the fashionable families she had visited in London. The decoration—chairs, bureaux and vases—was more opulent than the Darcy townhouse, yet it was refined. There was nothing of the showy baroque tendencies of Rosings. Finally, they arrived at a long hall that stretched into the distance.

"This is the guest wing," said Darcy, stopping at the entrance of the hall. "I will leave you now in the capable hands of Mrs Reynolds, to show you your rooms. Rest well and I will see you at dinner."

He gave a perfunctory bow, before taking himself off around the gallery to descend the stairs briskly.

Mrs Reynolds immediately showed Freddy to the first room on the left with a curtsy.

Freddy's valet, who was coming from the far end of the hall with Freddy's dressing case, directed two footmen carrying the trunks from Lizzy's chaise to take the smaller one through the open door.

"And here, Mrs and Mrs Gardiner," said Mrs Reynolds. "I have two adjoining rooms on the right for you. They have a lovely view of the back garden."

"Is Elizabeth in the Yellow Room, Mrs Reynolds?" asked Georgie.

This was answered in the affirmative by the housekeeper.

"I will show you to your chamber," said Georgie to Elizabeth.

"Thank you, my dear," said Mrs Reynolds, and she entered the Gardiners' suite to show them around.

Georgie skipped along the passage to the second door on the right, to usher Elizabeth into her room. As suggested, the chamber was decorated in a cheery yellow, much to Elizabeth's taste. She moved to the window to look outside while Madeleine directed the disposal of the luggage by the footmen. The chamber was not adjoined by a dressing room, containing instead a massive oak closet.

Pulling the curtain aside, Lizzy gazed upon the serene waters of the lake. She had always felt privileged by the view of the wilderness and the fields beyond from her bedchamber window at Longbourn, but the view from Pemberley... it was something altogether superior.

The footmen departed and Madeleine hesitated near the trunk.

"Would you like some privacy, ma'am?" the maid asked Elizabeth. "I could come back in half an hour..."

"Why don't you come over to my rooms to refresh yourself, Elizabeth?" asked Georgie. "I was wanting to show you anyway."

Smiling, Elizabeth acquiesced. "Shall I pull the curtain open wider before I leave, Madeleine?"

"Yes, please, ma'am," the maid replied. "Then I can see better what I am about."

Walking hand-in-hand, Georgie escorted Elizabeth round to the other side of the gallery. Glancing down into the vestibule, Lizzy saw Darcy had stopped to talk to a footman at the foot of the stairs. Although she could not discern his words, Darcy's voice echoed incoherently in the upper reaches of the vestibule in a deep bass rumble that reminded Lizzy somewhat of a cat purring. It was strange how it stirred something inside her. Then he disappeared through some double doors and Lizzy returned her attention to his sister.

"...I was so annoyed when Fitzwilliam said it wasn't appropriate for you to stay in the family wing, in the room formerly occupied by my companion," huffed Georgie. "He is so stuffy! 'Why not?' says I, 'I stayed in the family wing at Mickleham House—Elizabeth and I even shared a bed.' Then he just looks at me with that sleepy look of his—you know the one, with his eyelids half-closed."

Strangely enough, Elizabeth _did_ know that expression—she had often seen it directed at herself at Rosings. She now believed she understood it, in a way that Georgie did not.

"Here we are!" declared Georgie, arriving at the opposite hall. "Mine is the third door on the left, and this one," she said, turning the knob on the first door on the left, "I wanted to be yours!"

The delightful room, decorated in green, seemed very grand for a companion. It reminded Lizzy a little of her chamber at Mickleham House, though the chinoiserie wallpaper seemed a more restful choice than the stripes that graced Freddy's former room.

"What is even worse," complained Georgie, "is that Brother has invited my most recent companion, Mrs Annesley, to stay here for the next two months. He implied that he was just being charitable to her, by giving her a place to stay for the summer—but I think he just wants her to keep an eye on me and Freddy. But Freddy is not like that, is he?"

Elizabeth hardly knew what to respond. She did not think Freddy was made of stone.

But no reply was necessary, for Georgie plunged on:

"Do not worry, Mrs Annesley is not here yet. She arrives tomorrow afternoon. But why couldn't _she_ stay in the guest wing?—that is what I would like to know! I'm sure she could watch Freddy like a hawk from over there!"

A smile broke out on Elizabeth's face. "I expect your old companion will be more comfortable in her former room," she said cajolingly.

"Oh, no!" protested Georgie. "She never stayed in this room! She was only with us for a short time in London. This room was originally refurbished for Mrs Younge!"

For reasons not immediately apparent, Georgie blushed deeply. Elizabeth recollected Georgie's discomposure when they had first met, over the incident in the previous summer—George Wickham and Ramsgate. She wondered if Mrs Younge had been Georgie's companion at the time, and possibly lost her position over it.

"Look at me, gabbling on!" apologised Georgie, trying valiantly to regain her equanimity. "The convenience is in the dressing room over there!" she said, pointing to a door on one side of the room. "And when you are ready, you can come through here," she added, opening a door that led to a beautiful sitting room. "We can sit and have a comfortable coze, and I can show you my bedchamber."

With a little clap of her hands, Georgie departed and Elizabeth sought out the convenience. She was a little puzzled at first, because the dressing room contained only closets and what looked like a chest of drawers. But she soon discovered the chest was a piece of metamorphic furniture*, concealing a basin, ewer and chamberpot. Lizzy rang the bell for the chambermaid as she left, not wishing to leave any surprises for Mrs Annesley on her arrival.

The sitting room was a gorgeous confection of mirrors and gilt furniture upholstered in blue silk brocade. A piano graced one corner near a window.

"Do you like it?" enquired Georgie, clasping her hands to her heart. "It was my first attempt at designing an interior. It is based on a room in my aunt Matlock's house at Richmond, which was inspired by one of the French queen's at Versailles."

"It is very beautiful, Georgie," replied Elizabeth, "and definitely in keeping with the house. Freddy and I were quite awestruck on coming down the hill. It reminded me of a print I had seen of Versailles."

"A few people say that. Aunt says Versailles is much larger but she thinks Pemberley's exterior more beautiful in a petite way. Of course, she says nothing could compete with the interiors of Versailles—like the hall of mirrors.*"

"Yes," replied Elizabeth. "I expect no print could ever do that justice."

"Everything is blue in my rooms here," confided Georgie, "which is why I decided on pink in London—just for a change."

Elizabeth drifted toward the piano. "Another Broadwood grand. Is it new?"

"Brother bought it when he first had the idea to refurbish these rooms for me when I graduated from the schoolroom. I occupied the nursery, you see, and just had one of the square keyboards with five octaves in there. There was some music I could only play on the larger piano in the drawing room downstairs."

"What a thoughtful brother!" teased Elizabeth.

"Yes, he is rather nice when he is not being odious," admitted Georgie reluctantly. "But I think it was more that the drawing room is separated only from his study by the vestibule—and the sound has a tendency to echo around in there."

Elizabeth could only smile. She was beginning to wonder whether Mr Darcy liked to hide his generosity with these little cutting remarks. She could just imagine him saying it.

The bedchamber next door was much in the same style, with a large gilt four poster bed, certainly grand, but without being uncomfortable.

"Would you like to lie down?" asked Georgie. "I expect you are weary after all that travelling."

Much to her surprise, Elizabeth realised she was rather tired. The excitement of seeing Pemberley had masked the long journey and social tax of meeting distant relatives for the first time.

Georgie offered to loosen her stays and they both lay down on the bed to continue talking. At what point Lizzy fell asleep, she was later unable to remember. She could certainly not recall anything afterwards beyond lying her head on the pillow.

Elizabeth woke with a start to find Georgie asleep beside her. A polite knock at the door made Elizabeth realise that it had likely been preceded by another. She sat up in time to see Celestine open the door but could not see the applicant because the door opened towards the bed.

"Eet is your maid, ma'am," said Celestine. "Ze dinner bell went five minutes ago."

"Heavens!" said Elizabeth, scrambling out of bed. "Tell Madeleine I will be with her momentarily."

Elizabeth picked up her gown, which she had carefully laid over the back of a chair, but before she could put it on, Georgie sat up and took charge.

"Celestine, my mother's golden banyan! I think it is in the far right corner of the dressing cabinet!"

In the time it took Elizabeth to push her feet into her kid slippers, the maid had retrieved the garment with lightning speed. It was a beautiful silk wrap with trailing sleeves—the hem painted in a contrasting blue and adorned with embroidered pink flowers. Elizabeth felt there was no time to protest, instead thanking Georgie gratefully as she allowed Celestine to slip it onto her shoulders. She tied the belt and gathered her day gown over her arm.

"Your 'air, ma'am," said Celestine, plucking some pins from the back and presenting them to Elizabeth in her open palm.

Elizabeth felt her curls tumble onto the back of her neck but was grateful the maid had not let her walk out the door untidy.

"See you at dinner," she said to Georgie as Celestine opened the door to the hall for her.

Lizzy hurried down the hall of the family wing to the gallery, but before she had reached the threshold, the inevitable happened—Mr Darcy walked in from the other end.

He stopped dead upon perceiving her, then took a step back towards the wall to let her pass.

"I beg your pardon," apologised Elizabeth, feeling the warmth mount briefly to her cheeks before being quickly suppressed. "Georgie and I fell asleep."

Darcy's eyes were at half-mast again but his pupils seemed fixed on some point over her left shoulder. "It is a tiring journey," he murmured, twisting his right shoulder back in an odd way, as if it were paining him.

Elizabeth nodded and then hurried past, ruing the fact she had not taken the time to put her gown on. Once she got round the corner, she checked the front of the wrap was not gaping, but it was all in order, perfectly respectable. Nonetheless, she felt hot and bothered, and wished she had not encountered Mr Darcy while dishabille in his hallway.

Madeline had laid out an orange silk gown with a cherry pink gauze overdress. Lizzy was eased into it with remarkable efficiency in a matter of minutes, leaving Madeleine one quarter of an hour to deal with Lizzy's coiffure.

When Lizzy stepped into the hall soon after, she found Freddy and the Gardiners waiting for her, and assured herself that donning the wrapper had been the right thing to do in the circumstances.

Dinner at Pemberley provided one new experience for Elizabeth—she tasted venison for the first time. But on the whole she found it a strangely unsatisfactory experience. There was nothing wrong with the food—the cook had prepared an exemplary meal with all of her usual favourites. But when Mr Darcy sat Mr and Mrs Gardiner on either side of him at table—on the pretext that he had yet to properly make their acquaintance, Elizabeth knew that his resentment over her refusal at Hunsford was undiminished. She was relegated to her uncle's other side, with Georgie beside her, while Freddy was sat next to her aunt.

Mrs Gardiner did a wonderful job of talking sensibly and amiably with the master of Pemberley, and after five minutes of uncharacteristic silence, Mr Gardiner joined in, demonstrating that a tradesman who had not attended university, but was nonetheless well read, was a worthy dinner companion. Elizabeth was proud of her mercantile relatives who had ably demonstrated themselves unworthy of the disdain heaped upon them at Netherfield by the Bingley sisters. But if she hoped for some acknowledgement of his mistake from Mr Darcy, she was disappointed. He made no eye contact with her throughout dinner.

Freddy took his relegation to the lower end of the board with remarkably good cheer, replying graciously when Mr Darcy had given his lack of acquaintance with the Gardiners as his excuse for the table arrangement and 'humbly' begged Lord Mickleham's pardon. Freddy and Georgie soon struck up a conversation on Freddy's journey, leaving Elizabeth to add her mite occasionally while listening in to the more erudite conversation on her left.

It was decided to take dessert in the drawing room, so the ladies withdrew as the port was sat on the table.

Georgie went straight to the pianoforte while Elizabeth and Mrs Gardiner took tea and listened politely, engaging in conversation with their hostess only when Georgie was searching through sheet music for her next piece. The gentlemen spent a good three quarters of an hour over their port, causing even Mrs Gardiner to wonder what they might be talking of. But eventually they came in, a dessert of syllabub* was served and they talked in a desultory fashion until Mrs Gardiner barely stifled a yawn.

Thereupon, Darcy suggested they all retire, as the Gardiners were no doubt weary from the journey.

Darcy escorted his guests as far as the stairs to bid them good night. But he declined to immediately mount the steps, saying he had some business to attend to before retiring. As Elizabeth accompanied Georgie upstairs, she saw him disappear through the same double doors he had entered that afternoon and asked Georgie if his study lay beyond.

"Oh, yes!" replied Georgie with a roll of her eyes. "He spends far too much time in that room!"

Elizabeth had a little trouble falling asleep that night. Her afternoon nap was probably partly responsible, but she knew she was disappointed by her reception at Pemberley. She had hoped that her invitation had meant she was forgiven—that something like the friendship she and Mr Darcy had enjoyed before Hunsford might be resumed. But tonight's events had not augured well.

* * *

Elizabeth woke in the morning to birdsong and realised then and there how much she missed life in the country. It set her immediately into a melancholy mood, wondering what life held for her. As much as she liked her aunt's company, Lizzy realised she did not much like London. From Hertfordshire, it had seemed bustling and exciting, but within her first year of residence, the lure of the city had palled. But then she realised that Jane's babe would be born in the autumn and perked up, beginning to plan a visit to her sister.

When an enquiry to Madeleine, who had slept on a trundle bed nearby, yielded the information that breakfast was available from eight, Lizzy got up and allowed her maid to array her for the day in a less hurried fashion than before last night's dinner.

Her aunt and uncle came out as soon as Elizabeth opened the hall door, but a knock on Freddy's door yielded the information from his valet that his master was still shaving and would join them downstairs.

When the visitors were ushered into the sunlit breakfast room at quarter past eight, they found themselves alone—Georgie had not yet come down and the master, they were informed, was yet to return from his morning ride. Mrs Reynolds looked slightly worried as she divulged this and Elizabeth could only conclude that Darcy was generally very punctual. They decided to take coffee and wait for their host before breaking their fast.

The visitors were not left hungry very long. The sound of steady hoof beats heralded an arrival and although they never caught sight of a horse, the striking of a pair of boots on flagstones preceded Darcy's eruption into the breakfast room. He looked harried.

"Was there a problem, sir?" asked Mrs Reynolds, handing him a cup of coffee.

Darcy saw that his visitors had preceded him and visibly struggled to adjust his countenance into its customary mask.

"No," he replied dismissively. "I merely stopped to talk to one of the tenants."

They were enjoying an excellent breakfast of ham and eggs when Freddy joined them. On discovering that Mr Gardiner was an avid fisherman on the previous evening, Darcy had arranged to take his guest to fish in the Derwent, which ran through the estate. Freddy was entreated once more to join them, but he begged off, citing a need to write a letter regarding his side trip to Manchester.

Upon finishing his meal, Darcy stood up, agreeing to meet with Mr Gardiner in the vestibule in a quarter of an hour before walking down to the river together. After their host walked out, Mrs Gardiner petitioned her husband to allow her to join them. She was a little annoyed that Mr Gardiner had not already done so on her behalf, for it had been their custom when they were courting to go fishing together.

"I am very sorry, my dear," Mr Gardiner apologised. "I was so chuffed to be invited by the great man at all that it simply didn't occur to me. I'm sure there can be no objection."

Mrs Gardiner rolled her eyes privately at Elizabeth, who smiled in return.

Elizabeth was a little surprised at her uncle being overawed by Mr Darcy's condescension as she had always viewed Mr Darcy as an equal. Her world tilted a little. Despite her annoyance at being dismissed as 'a country squire's daughter' by the inhabitants of Netherfield, she suddenly became aware of the gulf between her family and their host. And like a bolt from heaven, she also realised why Mr Pickering had chosen to elevate her into society as his heir—she had never accepted her place in society among the lower gentry, had always considered herself part of the upper ten thousand while living comfortably in Hertfordshire.

 _But this_ , she thought as she admired the view from the breakfast room, _is how the upper ten thousand really live!_

"A penny for your thoughts," said Freddy.

"I was just admiring the view," replied Elizabeth.

"Yes, it is certainly a view!" said Freddy, sighing.

"You are not regretting coming?" asked Elizabeth, astonished to see him so despondent.

"No," said Freddy. "But Miss Darcy might regret _leaving_."

"I do not think she is particularly attached to the country," said Elizabeth. "She wanted to stay in Richmond so that she might visit you."

"This place must have cost fifty thousand pounds to build! Have you seen the house at Mickleham Park? It is not a patch on this!"

"Stop being common, Freddy," scolded Elizabeth. "Georgie likes to live in London and has only ever expressed admiration for Mickleham House."

When familiar steps in the hallway announced the arrival of the heiress herself, the conversation was quickly terminated.

"Oh!" said Georgie, yawning as she came into the room. "I shall never get used to country hours!"

The friends continued to converse while Georgie ate her breakfast, the topic soon turning to how they should entertain themselves that day.

"When in the country, I typically practise on the pianoforte for two hours after breakfast in place of my lesson with Signor Pastroni. But I am happy to go for a walk with you—the gardens are very extensive."

"I would be content to sit by you while you practice, Miss Darcy," said Freddy. "Perhaps we could walk in the garden afterwards?"

Georgie was very pleased by this offer, but Elizabeth rather fancied getting some sun immediately. She also thought the two young lovers would be better alone, especially since Georgie's companion would soon be thrust upon them.

Accordingly, Elizabeth begged leave to explore the garden and possibly eventually find her way to her relatives by the river. She ran upstairs to retrieve her bonnet.

After being given directions by the housekeeper to some beauty spots within the garden, Elizabeth set off alone, well content to do some exploring. About half an hour later, having found the folly, explored the yew hedges, and toured the rose garden, she wound up next to the fountain. This was not the piece of classical sculpture she had imagined it, but an artificial cascade built into a hillock in a mostly successful attempt at natural beauty. She was standing next to it, watching the sun play on the rippling water when she was surprised by the sudden appearance of Mr Darcy. The roaring sound of the cascade had masked his advent.

He stopped short on finding her there, tipped his hat, turned, and made every appearance of taking himself off.

"Wait!" called Elizabeth, taking several steps after him. "I have been wanting to talk to you!"

Darcy stopped and turned. "Of what?"

"I wanted to thank you for the trouble you took on behalf of my sister, Mary," said Elizabeth, closing the gap between them. "I am very grateful for all your efforts. I believe you have saved my sister's marriage."

Darcy's mouth turned down at the corners. "Your gratitude is unnecessary. I know my aunt is a difficult person to deal with on a daily basis and I merely did my duty."

His reply was like a slap in the face. Anger flickered briefly in Elizabeth's heart and then sputtered into the smoke of disappointment. The additional words of praise that she had been formulating in her mind dispersed. Why did he seem to oscillate between cordiality and cold civility?

"Why have you been ignoring me?" she asked frankly.

"If a lady says she does not wish to be bothered, one does not bother her," Darcy replied in a clipped voice

Elizabeth frowned. "But then why invite me at all?"

"For Georgie's sake. You are my sister's friend."

"I thought that you and I were also friends before going to Kent? Can we not once more find some common ground?"

"Oh, no!" replied Darcy. "You had my admiration before that, but we were never friends. Friends are of more long-standing."

"What a silly male notion!" scoffed Elizabeth. "Must I have gone to school or university with you to count as a friend? Why, I knew Georgie and I would be friends as soon as she accepted my help to walk Bear back to the townhouse. We had not known each other half an hour!"

"It is different," he stated baldly.

"I regret that I have lost your friendship," said Elizabeth earnestly. "You are a person I greatly admire."

"But not enough to marry me," Darcy pointed out.

Elizabeth was exasperated. "Can you not understand? It is not about you. It is about me."

"No I cannot. Every moment of my adult life, I have been hounded by ladies wishing to marry a fortune. One can almost see the avarice in their eyes as their heads turn as one walks into a room. Then I think I find a lady who is different—who is not continually fluttering her eyelids at me, and walks three miles to visit her sick sister. Of course, she would turn out to be the one lady who would not accept me!"

"You have answered your own question," replied Elizabeth. "It is not that I am disinterested in you. The whole concept of matrimony has never appealed to me. To become someone's property, to lose one's identity, to be continually ridiculed for sport. Is this something to aspire to?"

"You have a very negative view of the wedded state."

"I suppose so, but I only ever wanted to be the favourite aunt of Jane's children. And then, when Mr Pickering made me his heir, well, it was so marvellously freeing. It removed all the uncertainty in my life. Now I can visit Jane as often as I want but not be a burden on her."

"So you intend to set up as a bluestocking in London? Or perhaps spend your life touring Europe? Or riding upon elephants in India?"

"Now you are making fun of me," said Elizabeth reproachfully, "which I have a particular aversion to. Why should I not do any of those things? Gentlemen do so without incurring any opprobrium."

"I beg your pardon," said Darcy contritely.

"Perhaps I could contemplate getting married," mused Elizabeth. "I do not know."

"What would it take to persuade you?" asked Darcy.

"To me, marriage involves trust. Perhaps that is my worst defect—unlike Jane, I find it hard to trust people. I could not trust someone without knowing them better, which is why," she said, stepping closer and reaching out to him in supplication, "I have asked you to be friends."

"Can you not understand?" Darcy said fiercely, grabbing her wrist as if to stay its progress towards him. "Every moment I spend with you is torture, knowing I cannot have you. I knew it would be worse here, but I could not deny Georgie, engaged as she is to your cousin."

Elizabeth was rather startled by his sudden vehemence and would have tried to detach herself, but at that moment she heard footsteps, closely followed by Georgie's voice:

"The cascade is through here; perhaps she is there."

In her moment of distraction, Elizabeth found herself almost pulled from her shoes as Darcy jerked her suddenly away from the voices. Thinking he was intending to give the young lovers some space, she followed readily enough. He brushed aside some ivy, stepped through a gap, and pulled her down some narrow steps. But instead of finding herself in another courtyard, as she had expected, Lizzy found herself almost crouching in a narrow space between a rock face and a curtain of water. Sunlight bathed the area in shimmering patterns.

"Where are we?" she asked in amazement.

"Behind the cascade," whispered Darcy, going down on one knee. "Shh! They may be able to hear our voices."

Two figures stopped directly in front of them, their shapes pulled and twisted by the water.

"No, she is not here either!" came Georgie's voice, in exasperation.

"What a beautiful cascade," said Freddy. "Would you like a rose?"

"Oh, Freddy! You did not pluck that? The gardener, Mr Feathersett, is quite particular about cutting them himself!"

"It fell off in my hand when I touched it," apologised Freddy.

"How romantic!" said Georgie. "Will you kiss me?"

Darcy jerked forward, as if he contemplated bursting through the surface of the water like a vengeful Poseidon, but Lizzy grabbed his coat to stay him.

Beyond the water, the two heads came together briefly. Elizabeth could only think how wonderfully matched in height Freddy and Georgie were—well perhaps Georgie was a little taller.

"That was a peck—like my aunt!" complained Georgie. "Give me a proper kiss!"

"A proper kiss, Miss Darcy?" said Freddy very formally. "What do you know of proper kisses?"

Georgie did not answer but threw her arms around Freddy's neck.

Beside her, Darcy looked on the verge of an apoplexy, so Lizzy stroked the sleeve of his tailcoat.

"Satisfactory?" asked Freddy as the two figures parted.

"Oh, yes!" giggled Georgie. "Maybe, Lizzy is on the other side of the yew hedge!"

Something like a growl escaped from Darcy as the figures departed.

"Come now," Lizzy cajoled. "They are engaged! What a convenient little place to spy upon them!"

"My intention was not to spy, but merely to remain undisturbed so that we could finish our conversation," said Darcy indignantly. "I used to hide here when I was a child. Suddenly it seems so much smaller."

"What a naughty boy! No doubt, you were sitting here, grinning, while your tutor ran through the gardens yelling for you," teased Lizzy.

"Something like that," muttered Darcy.

Lizzy flashed him a mischievous grin. They were very close now and Elizabeth could see into the depths of his eyes. Something hurt lurked there. Darcy's lips twitched. She knew he was thinking of kissing her, as they had just witnessed, but he did not bridge the gap.

Throwing caution to the wind, Elizabeth threw her arms around his neck, intending to give him not a peck, but a respectable kiss—whatever that was. But as soon as her lips touched his, she was drawn into a vortex of sensations. His lips were hot and firm but strangely pliant. The kiss was urgent and seemed to go on forever, til she felt breathless and dizzy. She felt herself collapse into his arms. He smelt so good.

She drew her head back and looked at him. The sleepy look was there again, but behind the half-closed lids his eyes seemed to blaze. She realised she had unleashed the dragon.

"Friends?" she asked tentatively.

Darcy groaned. "Friends," he repeated.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

Palladian—relating to or denoting the neoclassical style of Andrea Palladio, in particular with reference to the phase of English architecture from c.1715, when there was a revival of interest in Palladio and his English follower, Inigo Jones, and a reaction against the baroque, Oxford Dictionary

metamorphic furniture—similar in concept to modern convertible furniture, Regency metamorphic furniture was generally more elegant—form was equally important to function. Often the second function was hidden. Common examples were Pembroke tables—sidetables that could be converted to larger tables for dining or cards.

Hall of Mirrors—(French: Grande Galerie or Galerie des Glaces) is the central gallery of the Palace of Versailles in Versailles, France.

As the principal and most remarkable feature of King Louis XIV of France's third building campaign of the Palace of Versailles (1678–1684), the hall has seventeen mirror-clad arches that reflect the seventeen arcaded windows that overlook the gardens. Each arch contains twenty-one mirrors with a total complement of 357 used in the decoration. Wikipedia

syllabub—a dessert of whipped cream, often flavoured with port or sherry


	37. In the driving seat

**Another milestone, _Cinder Lizzy_ just eclipsed _Times Up_ as my most favourited ff story. ****Don't forget you can still read _Times Up_ for free if you have an Amazon Prime subscription.**

 **This is an M rated story. As such, it is hidden from casual view. You will need to select 'M' in the Ratings category using the Filters button and re-search to find it.**

 **Thanks _MayBelle5_ , I had noticed that continuity error and fixed it in the master but not yet online. At your prompting, I have done so now, with a slight change to chapter 33.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 36 were:**

 **"Becoming Friends" by _FatPatricia515_ ,**

 **"Renewing Friendship" by _Kaohing_ ,**

 **"friendship afire", "Inquisition" by _auladarcy_ ,**

 **"Waterfall Redoux!" by _BettyMaryLou_ ,**

 **"It's all about trust" by _justafan_ ,**

 **"Chasing Waterfalls" by _SacredwomanY2K_ ,**

 **"Unleashing the dragon",**

 **"Starting to Blaze / Lighting a Fire" by _LMFG_ ,**

 **"Friends Without Benefits? by _Clara84_ ,**

 **"I was in the middle before I knew I had begun." by _nanciellen_ ,**

 **"Awakening a Sleeping Dragon" by _MrsSP9_ ,**

 **"A friendship with benefits" by _Levenez_ ,**

 **"Beyond the Cascade" by _Lee3619_ ,**

 **"A cascading moment" by _Angelicsailor_ ,**

 **"Beginning again",**

 **"I'm telling you my friend that I'll get you in the end",**

 **"Loved of all ladies, only you excepted",**

 **"I would not wish any companion in the world but you" by _suddenlysingle_ ,**

 **"Cascade of feelings", "Between a rock and a warm embrace",**

 **"Vortex", "Friends with benefits" by _guest_ ,**

 **"Kiss and tell" by _vaarin_ ,**

 **"Unleashed the Dragon" by** ** _b-sepulveda-m,_**

 **"The Shades of Pemberley: The Importance of Colours" OR "Pemberleys Colours"; "To be or not to be (friends)" by _beaty_ ,**

 **"Hidden figures" by _DizzyLizzy60_ ,**

 **"Kissing Cousins" by _MerytonMiss_**

 **There were some very good ones there: I laughed at "Between a rock and a warm embrace" and was taken by "Hidden figures" by _DizzyLizzy60_ —very topical with NASA's tepid attempt at gender equity street naming. I thought of "The shape of water" and "Stuck in the middle"—a great Gerry Rafferty song. I'll go with the latter, inspired by _nanciellen's_ entry.**

* * *

 **Chapter 37** **In the driving seat**

After they had extracted themselves from the cascade, Darcy offered to show Lizzy the spot where the Gardiners were fishing. They had got themselves a little dirty in their refuge but for the most part, the muck brushed off. As they tidied themselves, Lizzy commented on how lucky they were that Georgie had not thought to look for them behind the cascade, to which Darcy replied that he was the only person in his family who knew of the hiding spot.

"How came it to be there?" mused Lizzy. "It must surely have been designed by the architect?"

"Of course," replied Darcy. "It is on the drawings for the gardens but my father never seemed to be aware of it. He certainly never thought to look for me there. Perhaps the architect neglected to point it out to him, or perhaps he merely forgot about it—he was always very busy."

"And you just discovered it by accident?"

"Yes, when I was trying to catch the turtle in the pond. I was looking for something to scoop it up in."

"Poor turtle. I hope it eluded you."

"It did. But it didn't escape the chef. It was a green turtle, brought from the Indies for soup*. I found it in the kitchen and released it into the pond as my pet. I kept it there for a whole month. Unfortunately the game was up when Mrs Reynolds found me trying to catch it once more with my straw hat."

"Ah! I expect the hat did not survive that incident."

"It did not. The misshapen thing was given to one of the tenants' boys who wore it to bits."

"And so you subsequently hid from your tutor behind the cascade..." prompted Lizzy, fascinated that she was finally getting him to talk openly.

"Not really," said Darcy. "I mainly went there to be alone after Mother died."

He had said no more on the subject and Lizzy had not asked since it had clearly been a painful time for him, but they had chatted about more innocuous topics such as the age and design of the gardens. The way to the Gardiners at the river seemed quite long. It was only over the next few days, as she came to know the environs of the manor house a little better, that Lizzy realised they had taken a very roundabout path.

Mrs Gardiner shot Lizzy a quizzical look when the wanderers, ensconced in their own conversation, finally came upon the fishermen. She had immediately noticed the hem of Lizzy's muslin gown, tinted with the dark green of slime, and the matching mark on the right knee of Darcy's breeches. But she said not a word about it.

During his morning's sport, Mr Gardiner had caught one sizeable fish, which he thought a paltry effort. But Darcy assured him it was a very good catch, for the fish in the upper reaches of the Wye and its tributaries were very canny. They had taken it back to the house for their dinner in the rush basket Darcy had supplied.

The Gardiners had gone off to Lambton after lunch to check their children were not overwhelming the aunts. It had been their original intention to take Lizzy's carriage, but as Mrs Annesley had to be retrieved from the stagecoach in Lambton, it was agreed to combine both trips into one. Feeling rather grand, the Gardiners set off in the larger Darcy coach, attended by two footmen and the head coachman.

As Darcy needed to check on the progress of the harvest, he offered to show the remaining visitors about the estate. It was such a pleasant day, they all went out in Georgie's phaeton, with the ladies carrying tiny parasols to shade their faces.

The wheat in the first field they visited was already bound up in sheaves, being loaded onto a cart to be taken for threshing. Freddy at first wondered that most of the workforce were women and children, but Darcy explained that they were not fieldworkers but merely walking behind the cart, gleaning the ears that had escaped the scythes or fallen from the sheaves for their own stores, as was their right.

"Oh! We call those 'the leazings' down south!" added Lizzy. "When I was small, I once helped the tenant children gather them when I went out with my father. I got very scratched and dirty, much to my mother's disgust, and she never let me venture out with Papa at harvest time again."

Lizzy was definitely more pleased with Darcy's behaviour during their excursion. She felt he was no longer pointedly ignoring her. On the outward trip, he sat next to Freddy on the forward seat and chatted amiably, much in the manner he had adopted at the opera house. On the return trip, he suggested Freddy sit next to Georgie on the back seat, as if he were granting them a great favour. Darcy then handed Lizzy into the carriage and sat on the forward seat beside her. All the way back, she could feel the heat radiating from his leg beside her. She rather fancied he was vibrating like a harp string.

As for Freddy, he found the whole trip very educational—partly because he had long suspected that Darcy was partial to his cousin; but also because it gave him a glimpse of a world far away from his own, a different, older England being eclipsed by steam engines, coal, and goods imported from over seas.

On the journey back to the manor house afterwards, Bear was mentioned again and the tourists descended from the phaeton at the stables so that Lizzy might be reacquainted with the dog. Darcy explained how Bear had made his home in the coach house, being too lumbering, dirty, and stupid to be admitted to the manor house. The head groom and coachman had apartments in the loft of the outbuilding. The dog was rather attached to the head groom and followed him around for the best part of the day. For the rest of his daylight hours, Bear dug holes and chased rabbits, but he had found time in his busy schedule to accompany Darcy out on his daily morning ride since his master's return to Pemberley for the summer.

As soon as the phaeton stopped, the groom walked out to meet it and Bear appeared from nowhere to greet the promising new arrivals. Lizzy was pleased to see he had at least gained some manners, for he did not attempt to jump up at them, as he had done in London. He merely gave them all a good sniff.

"You are not stupid, are you?" Georgie asked Bear in a childish bass voice, scruffing behind the dog's ears.

"Definitely not!" asserted Lizzy, rushing to his defence. "Why, he recognised me immediately!"

"I will give him that," conceded Darcy. "He knows which side his bread is buttered on. Definitely not a slow top in that area, are you, Bear?"

Bear gave a bark and panted appreciatively at the attention he was receiving.

When Lizzy expressed admiration for the stables—far more elegant than their counterparts at Longbourn, Darcy offered to show her around. Georgie was about to join the tour when Freddy offered his elbow to walk her back to the house. His raised eyebrow was enough to allow Miss Darcy to twig to his motive.

"Oh, yes!" offered Georgie. "I am feeling a little tired after our outing."

She then completely belied her words by doing a little hop and skip to join him. "See you back at the house, Elizabeth!"

Elizabeth and Darcy walked past a line of stalls and an open area for accommodating visiting carriages before they came upon the tack room and a series of loose boxes for the Pemberley horses. It was as pretty and organised as a house—a far cry from the tumbledown stables at Longbourn or any of the affairs one typically saw at posting houses. Bear returned to a straw-filled kennel to observe the proceedings as horses were named, and carrots and apples were offered. Outside in the sunshine, the groom and two stable hands were unharnessing the phaeton.

"Would you care to go riding with me tomorrow morning?" asked Darcy. "I could mount you on this pretty behaved mare."

"Oh, no!" shuddered Lizzy. "As much as I enjoy the morning air, I am no horsewoman."

Being an avid rider, Darcy was a trifle disappointed, but as they passed into the carriage house, his eye soon fell on his curricle—a very smart vehicle always kept highly polished by the coachman. "Then do you drive? We could perhaps go out after breakfast to a different part of the estate—the drive by the river is very pleasant."

"I am ashamed to admit that I cannot drive either," said Lizzy. "We only had the two horses and a coach at Longbourn, you see."

"Well, I was offering to do the driving myself," amended Darcy. "But I would be very glad to teach you."

Lizzy looked at the high curricle rather dubiously. She could imagine herself taking a wheel off on a gate, as she had once seen Mr Goulding do, trying to drive to an inch at a good clip.*

Noticing Lizzy's lack of enthusiasm as he led a horse past them, the head groom sought to remind the master of something he might have forgotten.

"There is still your old gig, sir, in the back. I could dust that off for tomorrow, if you like."

"Ah!" said Darcy. "I had forgotten about that. What do you say, Miss Bennet? The gig is drawn by a single horse and is much lower to the ground than the curricle. My father bought it for me when I wrecked my whisky.*"

"You wrecked your whisky?" asked Lizzy in mock alarm. "Perhaps I need a different teacher!"

"Twas not his fault at all, ma'am," interpolated the groom. "A rabid dog spooked the pony, and the vehicle was too lightweight to survive the subsequent ruckus when it tried to defend itself."

"Thank you for my driving history, John," said Darcy pointedly. "I can assure you, Miss Bennet—it was my one and only accident."

Outnumbered, Lizzy was forced to concede. The assignation was made for after breakfast. The pair walked slowly back towards the house together, taking a detour to view the lake.

By the time they neared the front steps, the Darcy carriage could be seen descending the drive and they lingered there to greet the returning Gardiners and the newcomer Mrs Annesley.

Georgie's former companion was a well dressed middle-aged lady, still in good health, who was chatting away with Mrs Gardiner as if they were old friends when the carriage pulled up. She had only a small trunk, so Lizzy was surprised over the next few weeks to see how well she contrived to appear in different outfits with an array of tuckers, kerchiefs and different coloured ribbons.

Lizzy had never met a companion before, nor had the Bennet sisters ever had a governess, but her sympathies were immediately extended to Mrs Annesley. She felt sorry for any lady who had to maintain authority over her charges while earning her bread—she imagined it must be incredibly difficult.

But when they all sat down to dinner a few hours later, Lizzy was pleased to find that Georgie was scrupulously polite to her old companion, despite resenting her presence.

The next morning set the pattern for the subsequent days. After breakfast, Georgie retired to the drawing room for her piano practice, with Freddy and Mrs Annesley in tow. At first, Freddy pored over the prospectus for the business he would be assessing in Manchester while Georgie's companion sat by with her tatting. But when Mrs Annesley fell asleep as Georgie played an adagio, Freddy took the opportunity to sneak over to his betrothed to kiss her on the back of the neck.

He was motivated at first by sheer mischief and a wish to remove the pout from Georgie's face. But the game so suited a lover of pirate novels that he found himself wanting to continue. For the next few weeks, the happy couple managed to surreptitiously kiss and cuddle each other playfully under the very nose of Georgie's companion.

Elizabeth was a little nervous during her first driving lesson. When Darcy sat beside her in the gig—which was indeed a very petite one, suitable for one stout fellow—they found themselves in quite close quarters, with their thighs touching. Upon glancing down to adjust her skirts, Lizzy's attention was drawn to Darcy's thighs, which were clad in very well fitting breeches. Tearing her eyes away, Lizzy could not but continue to be conscious of the spectacle, for Darcy's leg constantly reminded her of its presence by radiating warmth like a hearth. She tried to concentrate on her lesson but it was very distracting.

The groom had harnessed a very sedate cart horse, which practically did all the driving itself. It only remained for Lizzy to request it to 'walk' and 'whoa'. But she spent all her time fumbling with the ribbons and fluffed her one attempt at a turn.

In the afternoon, Darcy taught her how to handle the gig's driving whip. Reassured at finding herself once more on solid ground, Lizzy did much better at this.

On the second day, a more sprightly horse was harnessed and by the third day Lizzy was flying up and down the front drive, turning competently at the ends.

From the manor house, Mrs Gardiner watched the progress each day before joining her husband on the banks of the Derwent. She began to formulate her plans.

"Edward, do you suppose we might go to the Lakes after all?"

"Well, if Mr Darcy should invite as to Pemberley again, I suppose we could venture a bit further before returning to London."

"But we have over three weeks before we must return. My aunts are doing so well with the children. Do you not think we might have time to go as far as the Lakes if we travel with Freddy when he goes to Manchester on Monday?"

"But, Margaret, what can you be thinking? Surely Mr Darcy would be offended if we went careering off all over the country when we have been invited to stay here?"

"Edward, it was very nice of Mr Darcy to invite us to Pemberley. Indeed, I did not expect as much based on our flimsy acquaintance. Do you not think that he perhaps had another design in inviting us at all?"

"Please don't speak in riddles, Margaret. You will have to be more plain with me."

"I think Mr Darcy has a tendre for Lizzy, Edward. Did you notice how awkward they were together when we first arrived? And then Lizzy was so strange after the baron's death. I could not understand how it had affected her so, but then I began to suspect something had happened when she visited Mary. Don't you think it was rather extraordinary that Mr Darcy did all those things for Mary?—arranging the servants and the bath..."

"That is a lot of thinking, Margaret. I can see you have spent too much time fishing. Where is all this going?"

"I think they would get on better if we left them alone for a couple of weeks, Edward."

"If what you say is true, isn't it our duty to stay here to chaperone?"

"Oh, Edward! Elizabeth is twenty-one and quite capable of looking after herself. Don't be so gothic! Who chaperoned us?"

Mr Gardiner considered this. "I suppose Mr Darcy is an honourable man and it would be an excellent match if it happened. I just hope he will not be offended by us going off."

* * *

Meanwhile, after spending their first few driving lessons circumnavigating the tracks near the manor house, Lizzy and Darcy were out on their first country drive. Lizzy had been all concentration as she drove down a pretty lane by the river, but once they reached more open country, they continued the conversation they had started yesterday, of the time after his father's death when Darcy found himself master of Pemberley at the age of twenty.

"It must have come as a shock," said Lizzy sympathetically. "So sudden! In the prime of his life!"

"My father was never the same after my mother's death. They were very much in love. The doctor was indeed surprised that Father died of the influenza, but Mrs Reynolds says he died of a broken heart. My parents' marriage was a truly felicitous one. That is the reason I have been so careful when looking about me—their marriage is my model."

Lizzy did not wish to voice the converse—that her aversion to matrimony stemmed from her own parental model. So she chose a different tack: "I suppose some people are very careless in choosing a partner. I was very shocked by Charlotte's story—that Mr Goulding proposed to her from sheer pique when Jane became engaged to Mr Bingley."

"Is that so?" asked Darcy. "I did not realise. I hope they will be happy in their marriage but I fear it may not be the case."

"Exactly. So, in the interests of getting to know each other better, I think we need to be completely frank with one another."

"I have no objection to the truth," replied Darcy.

"So tell me," said Lizzy. "Do you keep an opera dancer?"

"Heavens, no!" he replied.

"And have you ever frequented the brothels near Covent Garden or anywhere else?"

Beside her, Lizzy felt Darcy stiffen. "Surely, at twenty-nine, you would not expect me to be inexperienced?" he enquired.

She glanced sideways at him before returning her eyes to the road. "Surely, at twenty-one, you would be outraged if I was anything but?"

"I see your point," he said humbly. He paused before going on, obviously choosing his words: "I certainly have not frequented such places, but I have been in them. Know that it is my intention never again to enter such a place once I am married."

"When was the last time you used such a place?" asked Lizzy.

Darcy shifted uncomfortably. "Last year when Richard was on leave. He had his birthday party at a place in Pall Mall."

"Colonel Fitzwilliam?" asked Lizzy.

Darcy nodded glumly. What other questions was she going to ask?

"And should I ever be with child—would you use such a place?"

"Heavens, no! There are ways to be intimate with a lady, even when she is with child..."

"Are there?" said Lizzy. "Because there seem to be quite a few gentlemen who are not acquainted with them."

"How do you know these things?" asked Darcy.

"You would be surprised at what ladies chat about when they are supposed to be showing you their watercolours," observed Lizzy, taking a sly glance at him.

Darcy merely raised his right eyebrow.

He offered to take the reins for a moment when they came to a shallow ford—the carriage had to be taken through it at speed to avoid being stuck in the mud.

"And those places," said Lizzy, once the reins were transferred back to her, "I have heard the women in them have diseases..."

"I can assure you, I have been most careful," said Darcy. "If you are really worried, I can have my doctor produce a certificate before the settlement."

"Your word will suffice," replied Lizzy as they crested a hill.

They drove on in silence before Lizzy got to the one thing that had been particularly bothering her. "The first time, does it hurt? Because I have heard that it does."

"Did Jane tell you this?" asked Darcy.

"Oh, no!" declared Lizzy. "She said it was wonderful! But you can never really rely on Jane—sometimes she is so caught up in determinedly seeing the best in everything that she seems to notice nothing!"

"I have heard that it can be painful for a lady," replied Darcy carefully, "but I have no direct experience. I would say it is largely dependent on the consideration of the gentleman."

"Oh," said Lizzy.

They were driving beside another field where wheat was being scythed. Darcy asked Lizzy if she would stop the carriage so that he might get down for a moment to pass on information from his steward regarding the threshing.

When Darcy returned, Lizzy decided to change the topic of conversation. While she had by no means exhausted the topic, she did not wish to harry him with too many questions at once. So she spoke again of the harvest at Longbourn, and segued into some humorous anecdotes of her her childhood.

Darcy had some anecdotes of his own, one of which involved George Wickham. They had both had their behinds tanned* for ruining their clothes, pelting each other with mulberries. Darcy insisted that Wickham had started the fight.

* * *

When Mr Gardiner raised the idea of taking the opportunity to travel further to the Lakes at dinner, Mr Darcy was not offended. He even went so far as to offer the Gardiners the Darcy coach for their journey. This they graciously declined. Freddy's valet was only taking a carpet bag to Manchester, so they would not be overloaded in Lizzy's carriage and were content to continue post from there.

So on Monday morning, they all assembled on the front portico to see the voyagers off.

Freddy took a moment to take Georgie aside.

"I still don't see why you have to go," pouted Georgie as he grasped her hands.

"I have to think about work sometimes, Georgie," cajoled Freddy. "I was lucky to be able to spend so much time with you, given the changes going on at the bank. I will be back in three days. Meanwhile, I want you to make a little sacrifice for me."

"What is it?" asked Georgie.

"Don't monopolise Lizzy while I am away. She and your brother are getting on famously, but they need some more time alone."

"I hate spending time with Mrs Annesley," whispered Georgie, so the subject could not hear her.

"You can spend some time with Elizabeth. Just allow your brother some time alone with her, like their carriage rides, while I am away. Promise?"

"I promise," said Georgie reluctantly.

Freddy kissed her hands. "I'll bring you something back."

They parted and Freddy climbed into the coach where the Gardiners and his valet were already waiting for him.

"Goodbye!" yelled Mr Gardiner to his niece as the carriage jolted forward. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

Inside the carriage, Mrs Gardiner slapped his arm.

And then they were gone in a cloud of dust.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

Turtle soup—Turtle dinners, or dinners at which turtle soup was the central dish, were a popular form of lavish entertainment in the second half of the eighteenth century and the early nineteenth. India Mandelkern, The Appendix

slowtop — stupid or slow-witted

whisky—a light one horse carriage similar to a modern trotting sulky

good clip—at speed

behinds tanned—to be smacked or caned thoroughly


	38. The person from Porlock

**Rest assured** ** _alix33_** **, mulberry fights are best conducted with overripe fruit that has fallen to the ground—it splats more spectacularly. The good stuff goes in pies.**

 **Thanks** ** _Wingsofswallows_** **for pointing out the omission in chapter 2. It has now been fixed.**

 **I've updated the winning chapter titles for** ** _Cinder Lizzy_** **on my profile. If you were a winner, please check that I have made no mistake in ascribing them, as the competition winners will be drawn from this list.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 37 were:**

 **"Driving down the highway of Love" or "Games that Lovers Play by** ** _FatPatricia515_** **,**

 **"True Confessions" by** ** _Kaohing_** **,**

 **"Getting to know all about you" by** ** _justafan2111_** **,**

 **"Pressed Together" by** ** _Windchimed_** **,**

 **"In the Driving Seat" by _i_** ** _lex_ _-ferox_** **,**

 **"Closed quarters" by** ** _Levenez_** **,**

 **"You drive me crazy", "Fishing for information", "Kiss and tell" by** ** _guest_** **,**

 **"Driving Lessons" by** ** _suddenlysingle_** **,**

 **"Mr Darcy's Women" by** ** _Stormwingqueen_** **,**

 **"And this one time at a brothel...", "Complete Frankness", "Watercolors are the new watercoolers" by** ** _SVMlover1378_**

 **Wow! Quite a lot of suggestions there. I liked "Fishing for information" and "You drive me crazy" but decided to go with "In the Driving Seat" by** ** _ilex-ferox_** **.**

* * *

 **Chapter 38** **The person from Porlock**

Lizzy was at war with her feelings. One part of her was so strongly attracted to Mr Darcy that she kept feeling sudden irrational urges to throw her arms around his neck whenever they were close together—much as she had done the other day at the cascade. Another part of her knew she had done wrong—friends just did not treat each other that way. Sometimes she just wished to flee back to London to her aunt, to peace of mind. But something tiny inside her whispered that was the coward's way.

At dinner that night there had just been the four of them. She had sat at Darcy's right hand side, while Georgie had sat across from her on his left with Mrs Annesley beside her. The arrangement made Lizzy feel she might already be married to Mr Darcy. But without Freddy and the Gardiners, the conversation had been slightly awkward and commonplace. Where had her wit gone? She felt completely stupid.

Lizzy noticed Darcy's eyes continually dwelling upon her. She felt the effort he exerted to tear them away when Mrs Annesley made one of her dull observations, like on the sweetness of the carrots, always couched like a question—as if servitude had stripped her of opinions.

Lizzy found herself trying to imagine what it would be like to be married to him. Living at Pemberley would be easy—she already felt a connection to the place, like she had always belonged there. But she would be alone with him, quite isolated, especially once Georgie married Freddy. How long would his infatuation last? When would the sarcasm begin? She knew he had it in him—'tolerable, I suppose, but not handsome enough to dance with.'

After they had retired, Lizzy lay awake for some time, not feeling the least like falling asleep. Finally when the moon came up, she acknowledged defeat, lighting a candle with the tinderbox* so that she might view the ormolu* clock on the mantelpiece. It was midnight.

There had been occasions at Longbourn when Lizzy had also been unable to sleep—usually after her mother had done something particularly embarrassing at a social gathering, like declare Jane might marry a duke. While Jane seemed untroubled by such ambitions, falling asleep afterwards with ease, it had become Lizzy's habit on such occasions to warm herself some milk in the kitchens. She felt a little awkward about doing this in someone else's house, but perhaps the scullery maids would still be downstairs, cleaning the pots and pans.

Lizzy rose, pushed her feet into her kid slippers and pulled the wrap that Georgie had loaned her around her night gown. Taking the candle in her left hand and shielding it with her right, she skirted Madeleine's trundle bed then ventured out into the hallway.

All was in darkness—the candles in the great chandelier and the wall sconces of the vestibule had already been extinguished. But she could faintly make out the steps in the moonlight.

On reaching the base of the stairs she noticed the double doors that led to Darcy's study stood open and she peered curiously into the hallway. It stretched off into the darkness, impossible to gauge its depths, but a blue light seeped from under the first door on the right. It was not the warm yellow of candlelight but seemed too bright to be that of the moon, unless by some trick it was concentrated by a mirror on that very spot. Curious, Elizabeth opened the door.

A bright lamp stood on the desk. Beside it, Darcy's face looked up in surprise, bathed in the unnatural glow.

"Oh! I beg your pardon!" whispered Elizabeth. "I thought you must be in bed long since! I came down to get some warm milk and was curious to know the source of the strange light seeping under the door..."

"It is an Argand lamp*—it gives a steadier light to work by than candlelight. Some gentlemen think it too bright and wear tinted glasses to protect their eyes. I do not find it bothers me."

"But what are you doing up at such an hour?"

"I often stay up late. I thought at first you were Mrs Reynolds, come in to scold me. I am totting up the preliminary figures for the harvest. It looked like a bumper crop. I was curious to see if we had set a new record for bushels* to the acre."

"And have you?"

"Quite possibly. 'Though it is too early to be sure yet."

"This is a very interesting study," said Elizabeth, looking around, "—much larger than my father's. I would like to see it by daylight."

"Certainly," said Darcy.

A silence ensued.

"I think it is likely the kitchen maids are already in their beds," speculated Darcy. "Perhaps I could help you with the milk?"

"Well, maybe in a minute," temporised Elizabeth. "There are many volumes in here. Do you have any poetry?"

"These books are on business or are philosophical in nature. Most of the poetry is next door in the library except for this one," he said, laying his hand on a thin volume, "which I have recently finished."

"Perhaps, I could borrow that one?" suggested Elizabeth. "Together with the milk, it might help me settle down."

Darcy hesitated. "I do not think it is suitable," he suggested.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Is it some type of banned book?"

Darcy swallowed. "Noooo... It is the latest by Coleridge*, but quite different to his earlier works, and possibly not suitable for young ladies, which is why I have not transferred it to the library."

"This harks to our conversation the other day...," mused Elizabeth. "If one is to be continually shielded from these things, what a shock must be the wedding night! We ladies must face it, in ignorance, like an innocent Calantha."

"Good grief! You have not read that book?" asked Darcy, aghast.

"Glenarvon*?" asked Elizabeth. "Of course I have. It had my aunt in stitches. It was the first time she had laughed since her husband died. So, of course, I had to read it. But what a load of rubbish it was!—I suppose you just have to know the people involved to find it amusing. But as to restricted reading—surely it would be better to just talk of things rather than be loaded down with innuendo!"

"I'm afraid I do not think this is much better than innuendo and poppy-addled fantasy," said Darcy, indicating the volume of poetry. "Let me choose a more suitable volume for you."

Exasperated, Lizzy was about to dispute with him when she had a different idea. "Very well—on one condition."

"Name it," replied Darcy.

"Kiss me again," said Elizabeth.

Darcy's mouth opened in objection but then he closed it again and stepped towards her. "Very well," he said softly.

She looked up at him. His eyes seemed slightly unfocused by the weird light of the Argand lamp. He seemed to hesitate, so she closed her eyes and tilted her chin up.

She felt his hands grasp her elbows to steady her, pressing the cold thin silk of her wrap against her skin and making her shiver. Then his lips descended onto hers and she was caught in that delicious vortex that had hooked her beneath her navel the other day. The stab seemed to come more quickly this time and she made a weird sound, almost like a yelp, when she felt it.

The cry seemed to have some effect on him. His hands moved from her elbows to her waist and then slid lower over her bottom, pressing her closer to him. It was such a delicious feeling. She could hear his ragged breath; feel the stubble on his upper lip. He groaned, then suddenly let go of her.

Breathless, Elizabeth wavered on her feet after her sudden release.

"I think we had better get that volume and the milk," said Darcy.

He lit a candle from the flame of the Argand lamp, then walked swiftly to an interior door.

Puzzled at the sudden cessation of a very pleasant interlude, Elizabeth followed, noticing the hall door was slightly ajar when the light of the candle reached it.

In the library, Darcy quickly selected several volumes of poetry, then led the way to a door that opened into the hall.

They were crossing the vestibule when they were met by Mrs Reynolds who was wearing a nightcap, ready for bed. Elizabeth started when she loomed suddenly from the darkness carrying a covered lantern, but Darcy did not seem surprised by her abrupt appearance.

"Miss Bennet was having trouble getting to sleep," he explained. "She was hoping for some warm milk. Are any of the kitchen maids still downstairs?"

"I was just going to heat some milk for myself," declared Mrs Reynolds placidly. "If Miss would care to return to her room, I will bring it up directly."

There did not seem to be much to be said to this—it was said politely but in a tone that brooked no argument.

"Thank you," said Elizabeth meekly.

Darcy handed over the volumes of poetry and bid her goodnight. As he watched Elizabeth depart, he realised he was not feeling at all like totting up numbers anymore and decided to retire himself. But he first returned to the library to extinguish the lamp.

He was about to reach for it when he discovered that Mrs Reynolds had followed him back to the study.

"You will please forgive my interference, Mr Darcy, but I can only say I am surprised at your behaviour tonight. I cannot think your father would have approved of such goings on with a young lady staying as a guest in this house, when you are not betrothed."

Darcy sighed. He had seen Mrs Reynolds enter the study earlier before hastily retreating—that was why he had released Elizabeth so suddenly. He had been expecting something like this.

"Please know that I asked Miss Bennet to be my wife when we were at Rosings, Mrs Reynolds. She refused me. But I hold out hope that I might be able to change her mind."

"So it is like that, is it?" said Mrs Reynolds, knowing that Darcy had always been a very truthful child. "Well, the boot is usually on the other foot. Very well, sir. It is not my place to interfere. But be very careful."

When Mrs Reynolds delivered the warm milk to Elizabeth a quarter of an hour later, she assured her that she had only to pull the bell at any time of night to have someone wait on her—there was always a maid and a footman rostered on til the morning.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

tinderbox—before matches, there were tinderboxes. Flames were most easily kindled from other flames—candles, the hearth. But they could be created de novo with a tinderbox, which usually contained a flint, a steel (striker) and some flammable material such as straw.

Ormolu—a gold-coloured alloy of copper, zinc, and tin used in decoration and making ornaments. The process, involving mercury, is no longer used because of its toxicity.

Argand lamp—The Argand lamp was invented and patented in 1780 by Aimé Argand. Its output is 6 to 10 candelas. The lamp used whale oil, seal oil, colza, olive oil or other vegetable oil as fuel which was supplied by a gravity feed from a reservoir mounted above the burner. These new lamps, much more complex and costly than the previous primitive oil lamps, were first adopted by the well-to-do. It was the lamp of choice until about 1850 when kerosene lamps were introduced. Wikipedia

Bushel—a measure of capacity equal to 8 gallons (equivalent to 36.4 litres), used for corn, fruit, liquids, etc. From Old French boissel, perhaps of Gaulish origin. See Pinterest board for a bushel basket.

Coleridge—the volume in question contains Christabel, Kubla Khan, A Vision & The Pains of Sleep. Christabel is a story of a lady who meets a mysterious woman, Geraldine. It is not clear if Geraldine is a vampire, witch or lesbian. Wordsworth suggested the poem be removed from an earlier published collection.

Glenarvon—a roman-à-clef by Lady Caroline Lamb about a rake, Lord Ruthven, based on Lamb's ex-lover Lord Byron. It caused a scandal and was extremely popular among the well-to-do who recognised its thinly disguised caricatures. Lamb Caroline characterised herself as Calantha, an innocent who is corrupted by a rake.


	39. Animal spirits

**Thanks to _Windchimed_ and _alix33_ for finding a continuity error, and _alix33_ for finding yet another errant dash—I must have been asleep in class during that lesson.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 38 were:**

 **"Sleepless Nights" by _Patricia515_ ,**

 **"The War Within" by _Kaohing_ ,**

 **"Kiss me again" by _WendyAprigio_ ,**

 **"The Person from Porlock' for Mrs. Reynolds interrupting them, but perhaps 'Nightcaps' by _ilex_ - _ferox_ ,**

 **"Things That Go Bump in the Night" by _nanciellen_ ,**

 **"Midnight Wanderers" by _Lee3619_ ,**

 **"Argument and compromise", "Attracted by the light", "Glowing in the dark" by _guest_**

 **"Shedding Light" by _guest_ ,**

 **"By light of Argand" or "Midnight Rendezvous" or "Midnight Meetings" by _DaRkRoYaLtY_ ,**

 **"Night Light or Night Moves" by _suddenlysingle_ ,**

 **"K-I-S-S-I-N-G" by _InARealPickle_**

 **Oh, brilliant, _ilex_ - _ferox_ , "The person from Porlock' it is! To explain—when Coleridge was composing Kublai Khan in Somerset, a visitor on business from Porlock interrupted his most lucid opiate-fueled dream. He was never able to reconstruct the lost vision.**

* * *

 **Chapter 39**

By default, Lizzy and Darcy breakfasted alone together—if being waited on hand and foot constitutes solitude.

Again, Lizzy found herself imagining they were already married. She was slightly annoyed with herself for being able to think of nothing else. She had never thought of Darcy like this when they had sat together in the theatre box. Why had his presence become so disruptive to her tranquility? Why did she feel those random urges to get closer to him? It seemed she had been suddenly possessed by that quality in her younger sister Lydia that her aunt Gardiner quaintly referred to as 'animal spirits'*. Could it be she was actually 'in love'?

It had been Darcy's intention to behave very properly towards Lizzy at breakfast—to demonstrate to Mrs Reynolds that he had himself well in hand—but the housekeeper was unusually absent during the service.

The reason became apparent when a footman announced the gig was ready for their morning drive. Mrs Reynolds appeared with a fully laden picnic basket.

"I thought you might like a little something to keep you going, sir," said the housekeeper, "since you were talking yesterday of going up to the threshing shed."

"Thank you, Mrs Reynolds," said Darcy very solemnly, but with a twitch of his lips that revealed the trace of a smile.

* * *

"Are we going as far as the threshing shed?" asked Lizzy as she watched Darcy stow the basket under the seat of the gig. It stuck out, but he draped his long legs over it.

"It would appear so," he said wryly. He had intended to go up alone in the afternoon, not thinking the expedition particularly romantic.

Lizzy accepted the reins from a groom and was about to set off when, at the last moment, Bear ran out to join them.

The head groom, Henry Joseph, grabbed his collar to restrain him. "You don't have a ham bone in there, do you sir?" joked the servant. "I swear he can smell them a mile off!"

Darcy laughed and bid the man let the dog go. "I haven't the least idea, but let him come for the run. I did not go far on my horse this morning. He feels cheated."

Off they went, with Bear lumbering behind.

Darcy suggested they visit the threshing shed first before taking the picnic in the home wood, which also lay at some distance to the manor house. At his direction, Lizzy turned into the lane that ran to the fields and beyond.

Thus far, Lizzy had only seen the shed in the distance. As they neared it, she saw that it was an enormous structure—part barn and part hub of various agricultural activities. Being a pleasant sunny day, the threshing was being conducted outside, but the open doors showed a large area where work could be conducted under cover in inclement weather.

Obviously acquainted with the vicinity, Bear immediately ran over to refresh himself from the pig's trough, to much indignant grunting.

Lizzy stayed in the gig to hold the horse but watched with interest as Darcy conducted his business. She felt there was something curious about the way the tenants watched Darcy—something more than the token deference afforded to her father in their looks.

It reminded her of an incident that had occurred during one of her visits to the Gardiners in London. Her uncle had forgotten his scarf. Being a cold day, Lizzy had volunteered to take it down to him at the docks after breakfast. Thus, she had been standing there next to him when a momentous event had occurred. Word spread that one of her uncle's ships, the Reliance, had appeared in the Thames. She had been separated from her sailing partner near Madagascar during a storm and was believed lost.

Lizzy had seen her uncle wipe his brow with relief, for though the ship and its cargo had been insured, its loss would have been a great setback to him. Anxiety over the ship's fate had been hanging over her visit to the normally cheerful Gardiner household like a cloud.

As the ship neared, her uncle had taken out his telescope to observe her. He had noted that one of her masts had been replaced, confirming she had been through a great ordeal.

When she docked, a great cheer had gone up from Mr Gardiner's porters on the wharf as the captain crossed the gangplank, quickly taken up by the crew. Lizzy had learned later that the ship had only been saved by the quick thinking of the young captain, Jack Cunningham, when the mast gave way—it had had some internal flaw.

The look of admiration that she had seen in the men's eyes for Jack Cunningham then was what she rather fancied she was viewing now as the tenants apprised Darcy of their progress. It was not the grudging deference of class, but admiration for someone who had earned their place due to their superior talents. She could not discern the words he said, but Darcy spoke to them in a low conversational voice without the harsh bark of orders. He asked questions and was answered, then fielded questions in return.

But as Lizzy continued to observe Darcy, she became aware that she too was being watched with that sixth sense we all have. She flicked her eyes to the right and observed two tenant women standing apart from the men against the barn wall and instantly knew herself to be the subject of their conversation. She ignored them coolly, not giving them the satisfaction of turning her head.

In a matter of minutes, Darcy returned to the gig to take his place beside her. From the corner of her eye, Lizzy saw one of the women laughingly give the other a shove with her elbow and guessed the nature of their speculations.

Tilting her nose in the air, Lizzy drove off.

"Everything going well?" she asked, more to break the silence than from any sincere desire to know.

"Yes, very likely it will be the bumper crop I expected after seeing the sheaves piled on the cart yesterday. If we can get the first load into Chesterfield quickly, I have every expectation of getting a top price for it. The men say it should be ready to go this afternoon."

When they reached the home wood not ten minutes later, Darcy took the reins to turn off the lane. He drove the gig into the trees for several hundred yards, weaving between the coppiced trunks until the way was barred by a ditch.

Jumping down, he retrieved the picnic basket and an old horse blanket that someone must have stowed under the seat before they had walked out to the gig.

"How very convenient!" exclaimed Lizzy, who had been completely unaware of its presence.

"There is not much that Mrs Reynolds does not anticipate," remarked Darcy.

Pulling a hobble from the back of the gig, Darcy staked the harnessed horse sufficiently far from the edge so that it might graze freely without toppling in. They crossed the ditch by a rough bridge made from a fallen tree. The tree trunks were thicker on the other side, although there was some evidence they too had been coppiced in the past. Darcy seemed to know his way, so Elizabeth felt free to look about her at the flowers and a wasp's nest while listening to the pleasant chirping of birds warning each other of their encroachment.

They walked for some ten minutes on a barely discernible track, perhaps made by deer, with the occasional hoof print and droppings the sole clues to their passage. Bear went lolloping off into the undergrowth on several occasions, his progress marked only by the snapping of sticks until he burst through to the track again in a clashing of leaves. Lizzy was much struck by the beauty around her. It reminded her of her much missed rambles in Hertfordshire.

Finally they arrived at a tranquil glade near a small cascade. Darcy laid out the blanket near the water's edge.

"Oh, this is very beautiful!" exclaimed Lizzy.

"You behold Richard's Brook," said Darcy as he began unpacking the basket, "—so called because he fell in it when we were skylarking with George Wickham."

"Colonel Fitzwilliam?" asked Lizzy, helping to lay things out.

Darcy nodded.

"Did he visit you much in the holidays?" speculated Elizabeth.

"He used to ride over from his ancestral home in Matlock every day for tuition—except Sundays, when he accompanied us to church."

"Oh? So the Matlocks used to spend time at their ancestral estate? I thought they were permanently fixed in London," observed Lizzy.

"They have ever been permanently fixed in London," affirmed Darcy, pulling a bottle of root beer from the basket and pouring two mugs. "My aunt cannot stand the country. She thinks Derbyshire a wilderness and the folk here the inhabitants of another century. Richard came to live here alone at Matlock castle when he was twelve, once my cousin Henry started at Eton. My uncle dismissed their tutor on the basis that he was paying enough for Henry's education without being saddled with the cost of keeping a tutor for his second son who had no turn for scholarship."

Elizabeth considered what she knew of the viscount's reputed abilities as a thinker and wondered aloud if the colonel had been the victim of intellectual discrimination based on primogeniture.

"You are right," said Darcy, getting up to walk to the cascade, where he immersed the root beer bottle in the running water and secured it there with a rock, "—so too did my father think at the time, which is why he offered for Richard to stay at Pemberley so that he might benefit from the tutor employed for myself and George. This did not quite suit my uncle's sensibilities, for he did not wish for anyone to think he was neglecting his second son. The compromise was that Richard would stay at their ancestral home and ride over each day."

"And how far is it?"

"Around eight miles."

"Good Lord! Every day?" exclaimed Elizabeth, assembling some ham on a slice of bread with a little mustard and passing it to him.

Darcy accepted the morsel from her tiny hand with pleasure—he liked to be fed by her. But she had got a little of the butter on her thumb. He watched as she absentmindedly sucked on it, wishing it was his mouth tasting her salty skin.

"I suppose it set him up well for the cavalry!" Lizzy said, licking her lips.

Darcy jerked himself from his reverie and laughed. "I had not thought of that! Actually, he quite enjoyed living on his own with the two servants. I always found it depressed my spirits to visit him there, with the dusty deserted rooms and the castle literally crumbling to pieces around him. But he felt like the lord of the manor."

Darcy passed the contents of the bottom of the basket to Lizzy, to lay out on the blanket—some cheese and a jar of jam. While Bear watched with eager eyes, Darcy finally came to the object of his interest. Unwrapping a wax cloth, Darcy revealed a large ham bone.

"Ah!" said Darcy. "Henry Joseph knows you too well, Bear! And here was I, thinking you just wanted my company."

The dog looked at Darcy as he spoke, as if carefully considering his master's words. But as soon as Darcy's words ceased, he straightaway returned his fixed attention to the bone.

Darcy laughed and threw the bone in the direction of the dog, who lunged forward to catch it mid-air before retreating to a strategic position on the other side of the glade where he could harry it undisturbed.

Lizzy and Darcy continued to talk of this and that, mostly of Darcy's life with George and Richard. It seemed that George and Darcy had been close as youngsters. Lizzy was intrigued to know how the rift between them had occurred—whether that single incident at Ramsgate had been the cause.

After Richard arrived, Darcy explained, his relationship with the steward's son changed. George, who was a similar age to the earl's son, might have been expected to form a close relationship with him to the exclusion of Darcy. But instead, George seemed to resent Richard's advent and eventually was at odds with them both. Darcy could not put it down to anything he or Richard had said or done. He had thought on it for many years and concluded that George must have become aware of their differences in fortune, since his behaviour smacked of jealousy. George had expressed his resentment in a series of pranks that had become increasingly dangerous until one day he had swung an axe at Darcy which had almost resulted in the loss of his little finger.

"I am only glad that the local doctor was away when it happened," explained Darcy, "else I would not have the finger on my right hand at all. I am certain he would have amputated it, for it was hanging by a thread."

He offered up his hand as evidence of his ordeal. Lizzy could indeed see the scar. She stroked it and clasped his hand as she asked him how it had been saved.

"We were up near the tenants' cottages when it happened. An old woman used to live in the woods near there. The tenants said she was a witch and went to her for medicine. So Richard took me there. She boiled up green manure in a pot, stuck the end of the digit back on and sewed it back together.

"My father was horrified when he returned from Derby a week later, but he had to admit she had done a very neat job. By the time Dr Crampton came back from his trip to the seaside, it was clear that it was healing. To his credit, he decided to leave it alone."

"And what happened to George?" Lizzy whispered.

"George claimed it was an accident. Father did not beat him, but he sent him away to boarding school, and he was only ever allowed back under close supervision."

While they talked, Darcy and Lizzy consumed the feast—simple food but all fresh and tasty. But all the while they were supremely conscious of being alone there together and wanting something more.

After they had eaten their fill and piled what was left of the picnic in the basket, Darcy claimed he was hot and got to his knees to remove his tailcoat. He folded it carelessly, then lay down on the rug in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, with one arm flung behind his head as a pillow.

Feeling bold, Lizzy did likewise. Stretching her gown out behind her so that it might not crease, she carefully lay down on her back beside him, a few inches apart. She looked up at the leaves stirring above them as the dappled shade played upon their bodies.

"This spot is so idyllic," yawned Lizzy lazily. "I feel I could stay here forever.

Darcy turned on his side to face her. "I would build you a hut, right here on this spot, but we would freeze to death in the winter."

Lizzy laughed and made to shove him for his unyielding practicality, much as she might have done to one of her younger sisters in horseplay, but somehow their arms became entangled and she found herself being kissed with the same kind of ferocity he had displayed in their first encounter next to the cascade. This soon softened into something more lingering and tender—like their second kiss.

She drew back to look at him. It was interesting to be beside him like this rather than dwarfed by his height. She seemed more like an equal.

"You know, I have seen plenty of labourers in the fields," said Lizzy, "and it alway seems such a shame to me that gentlemen are attired from top to toe in a way that makes it very difficult to guess what is underneath."

She made to pluck at his cravat but he stayed her hand.

"I think you got to see the goods at Rosings," he reminded her.

"Well, it was that which whetted my curiosity," admitted Lizzy. "Unfortunately, I was so surprised that I didn't know which way to look, and so missed the opportunity for closer inspection."

But Darcy would not release her hand. "I may be able to get away with a crooked cravat at Rosings, but it won't get past Mrs Reynolds. And she will be watching like a hawk for our return."

"This is so frustrating!" said Lizzy. "As much as I like holding your hand, it is strangely unsatisfactory. How am I to know if I should like married life or not? I suspect it is a swindle, since they will not allow you to try it beforehand."

"I assure you plenty of the common folk do and find it to their liking. There are many five-month babes among the tenants."

Lizzy pouted. "It seems they have the advantage of us. Do none of your doors have locks?"

"Elizabeth, the house is full of servants. It would certainly be noticed if we locked ourselves in a room."

"Then I suppose we will have to wait til the servants are abed. Perhaps Mrs Reynolds can object to me skittering around the halls at night but she certainly cannot have a problem with you doing so!"

Darcy sighed. "Elizabeth, you will be the death of me! I cannot come to your bedchamber. What if your maid should wake?"

"What if I could contrive for my maid to be absent?" said

Lizzy. "She snores occasionally. I will send her to my aunt's room."

Darcy was torn. He was determined not to cause a scandal but he feared losing her. "Very well," he said. "After midnight, but you must leave me some signal so that I know that you have disposed of your maid."

Lizzy thought for a moment. "Very well," she said. "If all is well, I will leave a pair of shoes outside the door, as if I want them to be cleaned."

Reluctantly he agreed to it and they decided they should return to the gig. Having got her way, Lizzy continued to tease Darcy as they folded the horse blanket. When she flicked cold water at him as she retrieved what remained of the root beer from the cascade, he grabbed her and swung her around in the air, causing her to squeal lightheartedly.

Bear ran in to save her, sinking his teeth into the calf of Darcy's topboot.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

Animal spirits—forget Keynes, according to Hellenistic Greek medical theory, animal spirits were thought to be produced in the brain by filtration or distillation from vital spirit and then distributed throughout the body by the nerves. The Cambridge Descartes Lexicon. Today, we might talk of nerve impulses and hormones.

five-month babe—healthy babies born after only five months of marriage.


	40. Cinder's slippers

**Wow! Another milestone, with over 1000 followers for _Cinder Lizzy._ Thanks for all your support!**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 39 were:**

 **"I'll leave the light on" by _FatPatricia515_ ,**

 **"Commoners have all the fun" by _justafan2111_ ,**

 **"Animal Spirits" by _anamell_ ,**

 **"History Explained" by _Kaohing_ ,**

 **"An unnecessary rescue" (a title made in regards to Bear being adorable.) Or "A night avenue opens" by _Angelicsailor_ ,**

 **"Not a glass slipper" by _NotACursedChild_ ,**

 **'Stepping Out' by _nanciellen_ ,**

 **"The things we do for love" by _suddenlysingle_ ,**

 **"You Go Down to the Woods Today' or 'Bear's Picnic' or even (as a terrible pun) 'Bear Bones' by _ilex_ - _ferox_**

 **"Grin and Bare It" by _Windchimed_ ,**

 **"Bear with me", "Throw me a bone!" by guest** ,

 **"Picnic Paradise" or "Picnic Persuasion" by _PearlBlue5_ ,**

 **"Under Scrutiny" by _vaarin_**

 **Thanks for all of your suggestions! I think I will go with "Animal Spirits" by _anamell_.**

* * *

 **Chapter 40 Cinder's slippers**

His master's startled reaction had probably done more than anything to convince Bear that his gut instinct had erred. After much confusion, in the way of exclamations from both Darcy and Lizzy, the dog quickly withdrew to a safe distance to take stock of the situation, looking in turns rather guilty—with his ears back and the whites of his eyes occasionally showing—and pathetically hopeful that all would be well.

Although the boot and Darcy's stocking were ruined, it was found on their removal that Bear had not drawn blood. Thus Lizzy did succeed in removing some of Darcy's clothing. She rather thought he had a handsome foot, worthy of Greek statuary, though slightly more hairy and of largish proportions. Bear had left his mark however, which Lizzy thought would turn into a wonderful bruise. It was her opinion that they would be best getting back to the gig before Darcy's calf became too swollen.

Once they arrived there, Lizzy suggested Darcy take the boot off again while it was still easy to do so, else the thing might have to be cut from his leg with a razor when they arrived home.

When the master was driven to a side door of the house in one boot and one stocking, it was at first thought that he might have sprained his ankle. On discovering the cause of his injury, Mrs Reynolds was a little chagrined to find her plans to provide a chaperone for the wayfarers had gone so sadly awry. She promptly declared that the dog should be destroyed, whether it was a gift from Georgie or not.

By this time, Henry Joseph had walked over from the stable yard to retrieve the gig, realising there must be something wrong—although he rather imagined that it would be the lady who had twisted her ankle. His dismay on discovering that Bear had attacked Darcy was ludicrous.

"I'm terribly sorry, sir. I had no idea he was vicious!" exclaimed the astonished groom. "Well, there has been a rabbit or two... I shall give him a sound beating."

Mrs Reynolds then reiterated her desire for capital punishment, which truly dismayed the head groom, who had grown terribly fond of the dog.

"Now, let us not get carried away," said Darcy. "I've never known a beating to improve a dog's behaviour. I'm afraid I provoked the attack by some high jinks with Miss Bennet, Mrs Reynolds. I was telling her of Richard's dousing, so she splashed me and we had a little bit of a water fight—it is a hot day, after all. Bear ran in on her behalf when she squealed. It was a simple mistake. His heart was in the right place."

Lizzy did her best not to smile at this revisionist* history that involved no physical contact between the two of them.

But Mrs Reynolds still looked at Darcy in surprise. Not because he had defended Bear—for she knew the master had ever had a tender heart—but because he had spoken so openly about frolicking with Miss Bennet in front of a stable hand. She had seen the barely repressed smile on Henry Joseph's lips at Darcy's revelation. Whatever his youthful adventures, Darcy had been the hardworking master of Pemberley for eight years since his father died. He was not known for high spirits or levity.

By this time, a curious footman and two maids had joined the party at the door. Mrs Reynolds sent them all about their business, directing one maid to alert Mr Darcy's valet, the other to bring a ewer* of hot water up to the master's rooms and the footman to assist Mr Darcy up the stairs. Before Darcy could protest that none of this was necessary, Mrs Reynolds silenced him also and sent him off under Elizabeth's care as if he were a six year old. Lagging a little behind, Elizabeth's ears then caught a reprimand from the housekeeper to Henry Joseph that instantly wiped the nascent silly grin from his face.

Elizabeth's help proved entirely unnecessary. By the time they reached the vestibule, Darcy was flanked by two footmen attended by three maids. When his valet met the party at the top of the stairs, Elizabeth relinquished her nominal superintendence to his superior claims. She bid Darcy goodbye and retreated to the calm of her own chamber.

As it was a warm day, Elizabeth was feeling a little hot and sticky after her outing. So on taking off her bonnet, she rang for her maid so that she might change into a fresh gown before seeking out Georgie. It seemed a good opportunity to further her plans for the evening. As Madeleine helped her with her toilette, Lizzy made a great show of yawning and claimed her maid had disturbed her sleep. Madeleine was very apologetic, for she knew she did snore on occasion—generally only when she had some lurgy,* for her sisters had complained of it at home.

Elizabeth did not feel too guilty about her subterfuge. She wondered that she had not thought to suggest to her maid that they make better use of the space vacated by her relatives earlier. There seemed to be any number of additional bedchambers in the guest wing. She rather thought that Mrs Reynolds had made arrangements for the accommodation of the guests with a nod to propriety.

On returning to the gallery, Elizabeth heard Mrs Reynolds send a maid to the icehouse so that a cold poultice could be made for Mr Darcy's leg and feared the injury might be greater than she had supposed. She said so on joining Georgie in the withdrawing room where Miss Darcy was just finishing yet more piano practice.

"Oh, you need not worry," replied Georgie airily after hearing the tale of their adventures. "Mrs Reynolds is likely just fussing. Fitzwilliam was ever her favourite—he had such big brown eyes. She always says I was nowhere near as bonnie a baby."

This frank assessment did appear correct when Elizabeth next saw Darcy at dinner. There was no outward mark of his ordeal—not even a detectable limp.

Lizzy spent the afternoon in the gardens with Georgie while Mrs Annesley took a well earned rest—she had been tatting up a storm all morning during Georgie's practice and had produced at least an inch of lace.

It became clear during their walk that Freddy's absence was felt deeply by Georgie. She longed to have him back at Pemberley but was already bemoaning his departure for London, a week hence. Lizzy was having a little difficulty understanding Georgie's wish to throw herself headlong into matrimony at such a tender age. She supposed it must have something to do with gaining independence from her brother.

Darcy did have a tendency to be condescending to his little sister. One could argue that the age gap might excuse him. But Lizzy did worry that by marrying Mr Darcy, she would just be trading places with Georgie, and would likewise wish to escape her cage.

These thoughts preoccupied Lizzy during dinner as she pondered Darcy's every utterance. For all the mild-mannered pleasantness of his speech, it was not difficult to find a touch of condescension here and a dash of authoritarianism there. She almost wished she had not arranged their rendezvous at midnight. It would be simple enough to cry off. She need not put her shoes outside the door...

For his part, Darcy noticed Elizabeth was a little dull at dinner but he attributed it largely to the absence of Freddy and Mr Gardiner. Her vibrant wit was at its most playful when she was teasing her male relatives.

Darcy chose to forgo the port rather than sit in solitary state in the dining room when the females got up to withdraw.

Elizabeth and Georgie delighted him by playing several duets. As Mrs Annesley continued with her tatting, Darcy felt perfectly at ease gazing upon Elizabeth as she sat beside his sister at the keyboard. After the covert looks he had directed at her as she spoke in the dining room, never dwelling on her afterwards for more than a second, he could drink his fill of her well rounded arms and the perfect ivory of the skin on her shoulders, so wonderfully displayed in her evening gown.

As much as he had hesitated in giving in to Elizabeth's wish for an assignation, he now found himself aching in anticipation as midnight drew nearer.

They parted very politely at the bottom of the stairs, with Darcy seeking her eyes for just a fraction of a second in his sister's presence.

It was half-past ten when Darcy walked into his study—still some time til midnight. As the appointed time drew near, Darcy did not think he had spent a longer one and half hours. He could not concentrate on the figures in his journal but when he resorted to poetry, he found that equally dull and dry. Every fibre of his being ached for Elizabeth.

With great strength of determination, he waited til quarter past the hour before ascending the stairs, since Mrs Reynolds often poked her nose into his study as the clock was striking. But she did not come.

Finally he could bear to wait no longer. Slipping off his shoes, Darcy left the study in stockinged feet, carrying his shoes in one hand and a candle in the other. The lights in the vestibule had been extinguished, as had become the custom after Georgie retired. After ascending the stairs, Darcy took his bearings and blew out his candle, lest he come upon Mrs Reynolds or one of the other servants as he deviated from his accustomed path. The moon had not yet risen, so the gallery was in complete darkness, but a faint glimmer delineated the entrance to the guest hall near the floor. Darcy stepped quickly towards it and saw the light seeping from beneath Elizabeth's door.

For a moment his heart stopped, for he could not see any shoes. But a few more steps revealed their outline, off to one side of the door. He arrived at the doorknob, his heart pounding, hesitated to take a deep breath, then scratched the door lightly in lieu of a knock before entering.

Elizabeth was sitting in bed in her nightgown, reading a book by candlelight, her hair tumbled over her shoulders. She had the corner of the book tucked under one breast and Darcy thought he could see... A conflagration of desire overcame him. Darcy closed the door noiselessly and approached the bed. He wasn't quite sure what to say.

"Is that one of the volumes of poetry I loaned you?" he whispered.

"Heavens, no!" hissed Lizzy back, laying it aside. "Did you wish me to fall asleep? It is Freddy's favourite pirate book—Captain Singleton.* Have you read it?"

"I believe I did so in my youth. How romantic!" he scoffed, with what he hoped was a light-hearted manner. "May I sit on the bed?"

Lizzy was tempted to roll her eyes but opted to pat the bedclothes beside her in an encouraging manner instead.

"How is your leg?" she asked.

"It is nothing," Darcy said, laying his shoes carefully on the floor.

He draped his tailcoat over the back of a chair. The bed creaked slightly under the burden of the extra weight.

"Where is your maid?" he asked.

"The room occupied by my aunt Gardiner." replied Lizzy.

An awkward silence ensued.

"That is a very pretty nightgown," remarked Darcy.

A blush stole over Lizzy's cheeks. The gown was little better than a smock done up in cambric, with no frill or adornment. As the least accomplished needlewoman among the three eldest Bennet sisters, she had, by arrangement, drafted the patterns for all the sisters' day gowns but only sewn the nightgowns. While she was quite happy to add a ribbon or bow to her sisters' nightgowns, Lizzy preferred her own to be comfortably plain. Nor had she bothered to purchase fine nightgowns for herself after seeing some of the delightful confections owned by her aunt Sempronia. She had contented herself with purchasing several to send to Jane after her marriage. Lizzy was slightly regretting it now. She felt a little dowdy and wondered if Darcy's remark was a lame attempt to make conversation or should be interpreted as irony. She would have been surprised to discover what havoc the thin fabric draped over her curved form was having on Darcy's self-control.

"Well," she said, turning towards him and plucking at his sleeve, for she suddenly felt unable to meet his eyes. "What shall we talk about?"

In response, she felt his breath caress her face. Turning her head slightly, her lips magically engaged with his, with almost no effort on her part. Closing her eyes, she succumbed and found herself caught once more in that delicious vortex that seemed to accompany his touch.

This time the kiss went on for longer. Lizzy felt Darcy's right hand clasp her waist, then slide over the thin fabric to her back, as it had in the library. It seemed to hesitate there for a moment before progressing down. Lizzy held her breath as his fingers curled around the cheek of her bottom. She heard him heave a great sigh and hoped he would continue to caress her, but a moment later she felt his hand freeze and withdraw.

Lizzy opened her eyes to discover the moon had come up, the light spilling into the room.

"Forgive me, I should not have done that," said Darcy hoarsely. "You were wishing to talk. What shall we speak of?"

Lizzy would have gladly denied any wish of conversation to encourage him to continue but she could see the moment had passed. "If I turn over, will you hold me?" she asked.

"Anything you like," said Darcy, which was not much encouragement.

Elizabeth turned away from him and slid down in the bed, laying her head on the pillow. The bed creaked as he rearranged himself but there was no corresponding tug on the covers, so she knew he had laid down on top of them. Nonetheless she could feel the warmth of his body beside hers. His right hand came to rest on her thigh.

"Tell me more of your family," came Darcy's voice from close behind her, causing her to shiver with a kind of delight from its closeness. "Your history is rather a curious one. I must admit I was very surprised to find you were related to Lady Mickelham. How came your father and she to be estranged?"

"My aunt was engaged to my father's best friend at Oxford when she met Lord Mickleham. My father never forgave her for crying off."

Having been spurned by another Bennet lady, the very one he was now holding in his arms, Darcy was all sympathy for the unknown friend.

"Did your father's friend feel the loss very deeply?" he asked.

"Perhaps he felt it at the time," replied Lizzy. "I cannot say. But I believe the life of a scholar suited him admirably, so he did not resent it later in life. Rather, he felt a little guilty that he had caused a rift between my father and aunt, who had been very close until that time."

"And did your aunt ever regret her choice?" asked Darcy.

"I do not think so. She and the baron were very close."

She paused. "I never thought about it before but it was rather ironic that Mr Pickering and the baron died within a year of each other. My poor aunt! It didn't occur to me when the baron died that she was likely feeling that double burden."

Darcy reached for her hand and squeezed it. "And so, this Mr Pickering, he was your godfather? Did he have no kith or kin of his own?"

"Oh, yes! But he judged them all to be well looked after. I do not know exactly why he chose me as his heir—perhaps because of his friendship with my father, perhaps because of the guilt he felt. I do not know exactly. But the terms by which he bestowed the inheritance were quite specific—he wished that I should make my own way in the world, to make my choices unhindered by pecuniary considerations."

"It sounds to me that he did regret the loss of your aunt, even if he found consolation in his fellow's existence."

There was silence for a moment as conversation waned before Lizzy looked over her shoulder. "Why do you not get under the covers? Are you not cold?"

Darcy could not answer honestly. "I am afraid I will get too comfortable and fall asleep. Although I wake early, there are always servants awake before me."

As if in compensation, he pressed himself closer to Lizzy's back. She felt herself enveloped by his warmth.

Lizzy must have been tired because her next memory was of that confusion upon waking as she tried to fathom where she was and what she had to do that day. She sat up and looked about in the early morning light. She was at Pemberley and Darcy was gone, with the only trace of his visit being a candlestick left on the commode.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

revisionist—don't like the Oxford's circular definition on this one. It means to revise events to suit one's agenda e,g. a lucky win in battle might be described as a rout.

ewer—a large jug with a wide mouth, formerly used for carrying water. Late Middle English: from Anglo-Norman French, variant of Old French aiguiere, based on Latin aquarius 'of water', from aqua 'water'. Oxford Dictionary

Lurgy - illness or disease, northern dialect, popularised in modern English by The Goon Show.

Captain Singleton—a novel by Daniel Defoe, reputedly inspired by the exploits of the English pirate Henry Avery. Needless to say, it is not as famous as Robinson Crusoe.

Because Oxford and Cambridge were originally set up to train priests, fellows took a vow of celibacy. Although clergy could marry from the time Henry VIII founded the Church of England, the vow of celibacy remained in place for fellows until 1882.


	41. Start a hare

**Suggestions** **for the title of chapter 40 were:**

 **"Shining Slippers" by** ** _Lee3619_** **,**

 **"Caged In" by FatPatricia515,**

 **"Strange Bedfellows" by** ** _DizzyLizzy60_**

 **"Pillow Talk" by** ** _NotACursedChild_** **,**

 **'A Rendezvous at Midnight' by guest,**

 **"Pillow talk", "Good night" by guest,**

 **"A Visit From Ole Saint Darcy"**

 **or**

 **"The Midnight Rendezvous" by** ** _The LadyGia_** **,**

 **Thank you for your suggestions. I think I will go with "Cinder's Slippers" based on the suggestion by** ** _Lee3619_** **.**

* * *

 **Chapter 41**

After Elizabeth had fallen asleep in his arms, Darcy had gently extracted himself. He stole carefully back to his chamber with a heavy heart, realising for the first time the irony of how Elizabeth Bennet's good fortune had played against his own interests—there was no need for her to marry to secure her future comfort. His depression of spirits brought with it a feeling of déjà vu. She had said something before of the terms of Mr Pickering's inheritance, but his mind had been reeling too much from her refusal to take it all in. No, he corrected himself, he had just not been able to accept it. At the time, he had thought that she could not truly mean it.

Now, he began to understand her dilemma—she was curious about intimate relations but was hesitant to give up the freedom of her current existence. Darcy was torn. It was clear that Elizabeth felt something for him, but was it enough to ultimately bind her? His heart pounded as he imagined making love to her—something he knew he must never do unless he wed her. To seduce her would be the action of a cad. He would be no better than Wickham. Yet he could not stop his mind from thinking on it. It rebelled in snatches as he tried to discover more genteel ways he might woo her.

Darcy had requested his valet not wait up for him. Accordingly, he found his bedclothes neatly laid out on the covers of his bed. Having washed before dinner, Darcy slipped into them and laid down between the sheets, staring up into the inky blackness of the canopy above him. Unlike Elizabeth, sleep did not come easily, for in trying to discover the key to securing his love by reviewing all their past interactions, he realised he had his own motives to examine.

He remembered when he had first noted Elizabeth with interest, when she had walked those three miles to Netherfield to care for her ill sister. Of course, he had no intentions for her then because he had deemed her ineligible, but he had had the grace to feel sorry for his rude behaviour at the assembly. She was clearly a person of character who at least deserved to be treated with respect. At what point he had become more seriously attracted to her he could not tell. He supposed it had come over him gradually during her stay at Netherfield. Her playful wit and unvarnished beauty had charmed him.

All Darcy knew was that by the time he had formed the intention of dancing with her at the Netherfield ball, he was in the first throes of reminding himself that it could not be. He should be polite—as a form of apology; he should enjoy himself—because she was witty and beautiful and a worthy partner; but he should not raise her hopes. There was an invisible line that he should not cross by betraying his partiality.

Then all those careful plans had been overset by the series of revelations at the Netherfield ball. First had been the discovery that she was an heiress. Paradoxically, this information had upset him chiefly because his reparation might be misconstrued—despite her money, Elizabeth Bennet was still ineligible by birth.

Of course, shortly after that, he had become aware of Elizabeth's connection to Lady Mickleham. Her birth was not so bad after all. He realised that while Elizabeth was not of the first rank, her money and connections made her highly eligible indeed, although he still shuddered to contemplate Mrs Bennet as his mother-in-law.

Now at this point, all might not have been lost. His situation had been bad, but he had counselled himself that if his preference did not wane, he would be willing to put in the time to make amends with Miss Bennet during future meetings, whether at Netherfield or in London.

But when he had subsequently discovered the ubiquitous Miss Bennet in his townhouse after his untimely call to Rosings, he had momentarily thought he had the upper hand—that she was actively pursuing him. He had even liked her a little less because of it.

The sheer arrogance of those assumptions now made Darcy blush. In retrospect it was clear that Elizabeth had not thrown herself in his way in London but merely found herself there once more by serendipity, again through her own charitable instincts.

But this misconception on his part had continued throughout their few meetings over the following months. Indeed, he had misguidedly believed that Georgie's sponsorship of a relationship between them had been pursued with the encouragement of her friend. True, Elizabeth had not thrown herself at his head like the others. How presumptuous he had been in his assumptions!

As he lay recalling these events in the darkness, Darcy was having difficulty recognising himself in the man who had visited Netherfield not a year ago—an arrogant misogynist.

He had imagined himself a fortress, unassailable by mercenary females. But he was more like a ship that had lost it sails out at sea but whose captain had been determined not to send out a distress signal. That was where he had drifted with his insularity. Elizabeth Bennet, with her warmth and her wit, had somehow towed him back to port. He was in sight of it—his self-discovery proved that much. There was hope. But he was not there yet.

With the uneasy feeling that despite a good upbringing, he had failed to conduct himself well, Darcy reminded himself that he needed to ride to Chesterfield in the morning—a message from his steward had been delivered to him while he was dressing for dinner. With chagrin, he realised he had failed to inform Elizabeth of his projected absence. One might say he had been a little distracted.

Through sheer force of will, Darcy forced himself to fall asleep.

* * *

Elizabeth had much to think on as Madeleine performed her toilette. After waiting in anticipation for Darcy to visit her chamber last night, she had inexplicably become overcome with shyness when he had finally arrived. She had hoped to be tutored in some of love's mysteries. She had instead had to be content with being hugged while they talked about their childhoods. While it had been pleasant and comfortable, Elizabeth could not get over the feeling she had been cheated.

Her feeling of disappointment was magnified when Elizabeth went down to breakfast. She found herself eating alone. Mrs Reynolds quickly apprised her that the master had unexpectedly gone off to Chesterfield at the request of his steward, who had accompanied the first cartload of wheat for the market there yesterday. The housekeeper assured her that if the master was not back in time for luncheon, she expected him to return in the early afternoon.

So instead of another driving lesson, Elizabeth spent her morning once more wandering the gardens alone, feeling doubly snubbed. Not only had Mr Darcy failed to appease her curiosity on the married state, he had not even warned her she would be left to her own devices that morning. For a lover, he was remarkably negligent. All her doubts about his future conduct returned.

Finally, just before midday, she heard the sound of a piano issuing from the house. Georgie had finally arisen. Elizabeth made her way back to the house to meet her friend.

By general agreement, the ladies decided to wait until two before taking their luncheon, on the expectation that Darcy might be able to join them. Then, at two, they gave him another half-hour of grace. This was very easy on Georgie's part, for she and Mrs Annesley had only breakfasted at eleven. By half past two, Lizzy was ravenous and her tummy audibly rumbling.

They had just started their repast when the sound of hoofbeats heralded the master's return. Darcy came in to the dining room looking energised and excited, despite his long ride.

"Did all go well, sir?" asked Mrs Reynolds, who had been waiting on the table.

"Yes, yes!" Darcy assured her. "Our cartload of wheat was the first auctioned for the season. It set a new record for the Chesterfield market. Finally, the threshing machine has justified its purchase!"

"Congratulations, sir!" said Mrs Reynolds. "I knew you could not be wrong in your confidence in it, despite the few teething problems we had last year. I took the liberty of fetching up a bottle of champagne and thought you might like to enjoy it on the lake."

"On the lake?" repeated Darcy in perplexity.

"Yes," said Mrs Reynolds. "Did not Jem Wardle say last week that he had been cleaning out the boat shed? I believe he put a fresh coat of linseed oil on the boat you and Richard used to take out in the summer."

This was news to Darcy, but when Georgie voiced her enthusiasm for the project he did not demur. Mrs Annesley withdrew from the expedition gracefully, saying she did not feel quite comfortable in rocking boats.

Thus Darcy found himself escorting his sister and Elizabeth to the boat shed, carrying the remainder of luncheon and the champagne in a picnic basket. He found the boat tied up, ready to go next to the dock. Mrs Reynolds and Jem Wardle had been busy!

After climbing into the boat, Darcy steadied it with one oar while he handed Georgie and Elizabeth to the bench seat in the stern. In addition to donning their bonnets, the ladies had had the foresight to send for their parasols. They deployed these against the sun as Darcy pushed from the dock with the other oar and drew out towards the centre of the lake.

Having achieved this position, the oars were shipped, the champagne cork was popped, and the glasses charged. Elizabeth proposed the toast—to Pemberley and a bumper crop.

The ladies then admired the view and made small talk as they sipped their champagne while Darcy did a very good job of disposing of most of the contents of the picnic basket. He had eaten at Chesterfield with his steward and the auctioneer, but the ride home had made him very hungry.

Keen to share in the feast, some canny ducks approached the boat. The ladies fed them the end of the stale loaf that Mrs Reynolds had included in the basket until it was all gone.

"Well, this is very relaxing!" offered Elizabeth, as she dusted her kid gloves of the crumbs. "And here I was, thinking the lake was purely ornamental! How clever of you to hide a boat shed behind that stand of trees!"

"I believe the architect must take that accolade," replied Darcy. "I am afraid that I have not made good use of it recently. I spent a lot of time in this boat in my youth with Richard and..." he hesitated, looking at Georgie, "...and we had some good times."

"So I gathered by the seamanlike way you handled the oars," replied Elizabeth. "I have not rowed a boat. Is it very difficult? Do you think I could have a go?"

"It takes quite a lot of strength to pull both oars at once, but if you sit beside me and take just one oar it might be possible—that is how we used to row as children."

With only a slight wobble of the boat as Elizabeth sat down, the change was affected. Having the stern bench all to herself, Georgie attempted to fully occupy it by lying down and trailing her hand in the water.

"I feel so lazy," she yawned. "I believe I could stay here for the rest of the day!"

"The eels will nibble your fingertips," warned Darcy.

"Will they?" squeaked Georgie, quickly withdrawing her hand from the water.

Elizabeth and Darcy just laughed.

Darcy proceeded to tutor Elizabeth on the handling of her oar. She performed several passes in the air, rolling and pulling on it in the manner he described before she lowered the oar into the water. Although she performed the manoeuvres passably well, her contribution was not equal to his and they soon found themselves moving in circles. Elizabeth burst out laughing and chided him not to pull so hard on his oar.

As Darcy continued to row in slightly larger circles, he had that unnerving feeling of being watched. He looked up to see Mrs Annesley standing at one of the gallery windows. This ordinarily would not have bothered him—after all the lady had every right to gaze upon the vista that was the lake. But his eyes immediately spied Mrs Reynolds downstairs at a window of the dining room, similarly engaged.

"I feel like I am in the ring at Astley's amphitheater*," he said to Elizabeth under his breath.

Elizabeth glanced towards the house and immediately perceived both ladies.

"If you had gone to Bullock's museum, you would have realised that is the closer analogy," whispered Elizabeth in reply. "Exhibit one: foreigner disporting with natives."

"Did you say Bullock's museum?" asked Georgie, sitting up. "Did you make him promise he would take us?"

"Oh, yes!" replied Elizabeth jovially. "He may have got out of his dance at Almack's but there is no way he is escaping from taking us to Bullock's museum."

Elizabeth proceeded to hone her rowing skills until the sun withdrew behind the trees. The warmth suddenly disappeared from the day, sucked into the cool waters of the lake.

Darcy suggested they make for shore, but Elizabeth refused to relinquish her oar, demanding that she might do some 'real' rowing. By Darcy's only pulling lightly on his oar, they made it to the dock in a far less efficient fashion than they had set out, but Elizabeth declared herself satisfied with her achievement.

One of the groundsmen helped them dock and handed Miss Georgie out. But while Darcy and Elizabeth were shipping their oars, Bear arrived, much excited by the novel proceedings, and caused all manner of confusion by jumping into the boat and almost oversetting it before Darcy could grab him firmly by the collar. From the safety of the dock, Georgie watched it all with baited breath, her gloves plastered firmly over her mouth.

No biting ensued, but Darcy narrowly avoided having his face licked, which Elizabeth felt was intended as a type of apology. But Bear was once more sent off to purgatory when Henry Joseph arrived to take charge of him.

Seeing all was back in order, Georgie watched with satisfaction as Darcy handed Elizabeth to the dock with his other hand hovering perilously close to her waist. Georgie then decided to run ahead to give the couple some time alone.

"Last one back to the house is a rotten egg*!" she yelled over her shoulder as she picked up her skirts.

"Well," said Elizabeth as she and Darcy made their way back to the house together. "I hope you intend making up for snubbing me this morning, for I shall be putting my slippers out again tonight."

"Elizabeth," replied Darcy, "I don't think we should risk further..."

"Last chance before Freddy returns," Elizabeth pointed out, before picking up her skirts and heading off after Georgie.

"And you're the rotten egg!" she added as she reached the top of the steps and hit the doorpost with the palm of her hand.

Darcy was left holding the picnic basket.

* * *

Darcy was still in a quandary by the time he went down to dinner. Elizabeth was at her most teasing during the meal, but there was a ring of falsity to her joviality which did not entirely please Darcy.

After dinner, the ladies once more played duets while Mrs Annesley sat by with her tatting. As he sipped his port, Darcy watched them at the piano with something like regret. Georgie was laughing and enjoying herself so much that it made him feel that he had been negligent in not providing a proper companion for her by marrying earlier. Elizabeth seemed to fill the room with her light.

But once he retired to the study, his real dilemma set in. Darcy knew he wanted to visit Elizabeth that night but feared his own restraint was failing. He just could not stop thinking of touching and kissing her.

Finally, the clock struck midnight and he snuffed the Argand lamp. But on heading upstairs, he made a last minute decision and visited his chamber briefly before returning to the hall without his candle or shoes.

He let his eyes adjust to the darkness for a moment before proceeding to Elizabeth's chamber. The slippers, as foretold, were by the door.

Darcy scratched briefly before entering. He found Elizabeth sitting up in bed, reading as before. But she had drawn his mother's golden banyan over her night gown. It was a move which could only make him think of her longingly as the mistress of Pemberley.

For her part, Elizabeth had determined she would be braver than last night—definitely no more missish behaviour. So after he removed his tailcoat and waistcoat, she demanded his chemise should follow.

Darcy felt very awkward removing it in front of a lady but was determined there should be no more concessions, if for nothing more than prudence.

"You fell asleep before you finished your story last night," he said as he pulled the chemise over his head, much in the way of a pre-emptive move. "What happened to Mr Goulding after he knocked you into the puddle? Did your father not have words to say to him?"

Lizzy hesitated for a moment before she could form the words with her mouth. He really was an amazingly well featured man who made the brown-skinned field workers she had glimpsed bathing in the river in summer look rather scrawny in comparison.

Affecting nonchalance while her heart beat loudly in her mouth, Lizzy turned away to take a sip of water from the glass on her bedside table.

"If my father happened to be looking out of the window of his study when that occurred, I have no doubt he would have gone straight back to his book once he saw me pick myself up off the ground."

"And what of your mother?" asked Darcy as he settled onto the bed. "Would she not have had harsh words for a man who treated one of her daughters so?"

"Not while she had hopes of marrying one of us to him," replied Lizzy. "Though in her defence, she did privately say later that he was a rough, ill-mannered boy when Hill complained about the hour she had spent darning the hem of my gown."

They were quite close now and Lizzy felt her courage fleeing at the expanse of so much bare skin, but she was determined not to be chicken-hearted. Turning her back, she shrugged out of the banyan to reveal one bare shoulder.

Beside her, Darcy nearly had an apoplexy, realising she likely had not a stitch underneath.

"Elizabeth, we must not!" he pleaded as he felt the sweat break out upon his brow.

"It seems only fair...," she suggested, slipping a leg through the opening of the banyan to reveal a shapely calf.

"Wait!" said Darcy, sore tested. "I brought something for you!" he added as he fished in his breeches' pocket.

Having extracted the indeterminate item, he proceeded to stroke her bare shoulder with it.

"Ah!" sighed Elizabeth. "What is that?"

"A hare's-foot," whispered Darcy, close to her ear. "My valet uses it to remove the lint from my coats."

"How very clever of you," murmured Elizabeth, enjoying his attentions. "It reminds me a little of a game Jane and I would play when we had trouble sleeping."

"And what was that?" murmured Darcy, moving her hair so that he could brush the nape of her neck with the soft fur.

Elizabeth shivered and choked back the giggle that threatened to erupt from her throat. "Give me the hare's foot and I will show you."

Darcy had not expected this. His plans to tame his lioness were not exactly going to plan. Hesitantly he placed the hare's-foot on the pillow before her, more intrigued than anything else.

She pounced on it immediately.

"Now be a good boy and roll over," she said, turning towards him but clutching the neck of the loose banyan modestly to her chest.

Darcy could not help but smile to himself as he obeyed—why should he have not expected something like this?

Elizabeth proceeded to draw letters on his back with the hare's-foot, making him guess the words that they formed. There was 'boat', 'bear' and 'Bullock's'.

Then she surprised him by tracing the next word with her finger. He sighed audibly at her touch and was so distracted he could not make it out, guessing 'Derby' when she had written 'Darcy'.

Then she gave the hare's-foot back to him, suggesting it was his turn. She sat up as if to loosen the banyan. This he could not allow.

"No, Elizabeth! Not yet! Could I not just hold you?"

Elizabeth pouted. "Only if you get under the covers," she conceded.

Darcy had to be content with that. But it was hard, very hard. And he had to be careful positioning himself in the bed so as not to make her aware of his condition.

He managed to engage her interest by asking her of Jane—how long she had been acknowledged as the local beauty before he and Bingley first visited Hertfordshire. Elizabeth was loquacious on the topic, delivering Jane's adventures in a series of humorous anecdotes. She then reciprocated by asking him to relate just exactly how he had met Bingley, for she had only ever heard the story from Georgie's lips. All the while he continued to caress her, planting tiny kisses on her exposed shoulder and the back of her neck.

Eventually, the warmth of his body worked its magic and Elizabeth fell asleep. Once he was sure she was breathing evenly, Darcy extracted himself and pulled the rest of his clothes back on.

By then the moon had risen. He satisfied himself with one last look on Elizabeth as she slept. She had snuggled down into the blankets and looked much like an angel with her perfect skin and plump lips. Silently he tiptoed out and closed the door.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

distress signal—the most common Regency distress signal was to fly the ship's flag upside down.

Astley's amphitheater—a theatre in London where feats of trick riding were performed.

rotten egg—I think this is an Americanism from the late 19th Century. Can anyone think of a Regency equivalent? Maybe "chipper, chopper, last one in loses his head!"


	42. Hobson's choice

**Thanks to _alix33_ for picking up that very amusing mistake.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 41 were:**

 **'Reflections of the Heart' by** ** _Kaohing_** **,**

 **'Remote chaperones', 'Double watch', 'The day watch' by** ** _marieantoinette1_** **,**

 **'Down the rabbit hole' by** ** _justafan2111_** **,**

 **'Unsatisfying Lover' by** ** _FatPatricia515_** **,**

 **"Desire of his heart", "Propose already! " by** ** _Jansfamily4_** **,**

 **'The Temptress' by** ** _liysyl_** **,**

 **"Midday Boat Ride", "Nighttime Temptations" by** ** _DaRkRoYaLtY_** **,**

 **"Moving in circles" by _Guest_ ,**

 **"The game is afoot" by _Ponderosa_**

 **Following** ** _justafan2111_** **'s theme, I decided to go with 'Start a hare', which means to raise a topic of conversation. Thanks for all of your suggestions!**

* * *

 **Chapter 42**

Where such a sequence might have ended in two weeks is anyone's guess, but Freddy's return from Manchester the next day nipped further nighttime excursions in the bud—considerably to Darcy's relief of mind, if nothing else—or so he thought at the time.

Instead the days brought further picnics, trips to Lambton to visit the Gardiners' offspring, and several cricket matches. Much to the gentleman's surprise, they found Lizzy to be an ace batsman or 'pretty good for a lady' depending on whose scale you used. The nights brought sleep for most but only further introspection for the prospective couple—vacillation on Lizzy's part and an unaccustomed lack of confidence on the part of Darcy.

Darcy tried to get closer to Lizzy in a manner he deemed seemly, which involved less frisky behaviour but more respectful homage. He even went so far as to make another map for her—this one of Pemberley. But it was not adorned by the sweet little pictures his cousin Anne had added to the last one. On the whole, he had deemed it an inferior effort. He was, of course, working towards another marriage proposal, but the timing never seemed quite right. He found Elizabeth sparkling but elusive.

Freddy had more success with his relationship. Mrs Reynolds somehow got wind that he and Georgie were likely to make a match of it and he found his way considerably smoothened. The housekeeper even sought to inquire after Lord Mickleham's favourite dish. Mostly the happy couple spent time together holding hands when no one else was about, only to break apart quickly when anyone but Elizabeth intruded. It was with some regret that Darcy noticed that she had somehow gained the role of confidante to the couple while he had been excluded. But on the whole, he could not be much surprised by it, for the awkward age difference between the Darcy siblings had resulted in them not being that close, despite rarely being at odds.

Eventually the Gardiners returned, looking very much like a newly married couple in the way they held hands and glanced continually at each other. The break seemed to have worked wonders for them.

On the visitors' last full day at Pemberley, Mrs Reynolds had arranged yet another picnic. The party was to go as far as the Henley Falls, a beauty spot ten miles away, past Calver.

There was some discussion on just how they should get there, with Mrs Reynolds for once in favour of Darcy taking his curricle, with the rest of the party being disposed between Georgie's phaeton and the carriage. But when Elizabeth prevaricated over accompanying Darcy alone in the curricle* and suggested Freddy might like to join him instead, the idea was dropped. It was decided that the young people should take Georgie's phaeton, with Darcy at the reins, while the others would be driven by John Coachman in the carriage.

They set off around ten o'clock, which was the earliest Georgie could be coaxed to arise. Elizabeth sat beside Darcy on the driver's seat of the phaeton, but Freddy and Georgie were sitting behind them, making a confidential conversation impossible, just as Elizabeth had designed.

With four horses harnessed to the phaeton, Darcy could have made the falls easily in ninety minutes, but he knew Mrs Annesley did not like to travel so fast. So he moderated his speed to keep the carriage travelling behind them in sight.

As it was a pleasant summer's day, they found they had company at the popular picnic spot on their arrival. They all got out to perambulate about while Mrs Reynolds directed the servants to lay out the rug in a choice spot. Elizabeth was careful to remain close by Freddy and Georgie during their walk, much to Darcy's dissatisfaction.

Finally Mrs Reynolds deemed herself satisfied with the presentation of the food and they sat down to eat. Neat's tongue*, ham, cheddar and Stilton* formed the basis of the feast, served with crusty bread, fresh churned butter, and the best of the summer fruits. The meal had been designed to tempt the master's appetite, though he ate very little of it, unlike Mr Gardiner, who was rather partial to Stilton but not frequently able to indulge his taste for it. Mrs Gardiner laughed afterwards that her husband might have to be rolled back to the carriage.

Afterwards they all got up to walk it off, allowing the servants to dispose of the broken meats.

Elizabeth, who from her early years had always had the instincts of a mountain goat, felt her day could not be complete without climbing to the top of the falls, though the path was steep and generally only attempted by gentlemen. Freddy might normally have chosen to accompany his cousin on such an expedition, but he was held back by Georgie, who wished to view the falls from their base. As for Mr Gardiner, he was in no condition for the exertion. At last, Darcy saw his chance.

Elizabeth rued her impetuosity when she saw how the party had divided, for it put all her former care not to be alone with the master of Pemberley in abeyance. But she sighed and accepted her fate.

Darcy proved just as able a walker as herself and was considerably advantaged at some difficult spots by his height. By offering his hand, he helped her scale several large rocks where she might have been obliged to get her gloves dirty, had she been on her own.

At last they arrived at the top, which gave a beautiful vista over the hilly terrain. They found themselves in the company of three young gentlemen who, having proved their mettle by scaling the heights, were waving to the rest of their party below. But driven more by their feat than an appreciation of their location, the gentlemen soon departed, leaving Lizzy and Darcy alone.

"Ah!" said Elizabeth, part in pure feeling, but also as a diversionary tactic. "Does it not make you feel you are king of the world?"

Darcy agreed the height was exhilarating but was not to be swerved from his mission. Elizabeth's vitality seemed to implore it—her eyes sparkled, her rosy cheeks glowed with the exertion of the climb.

"Elizabeth," he started, in a gentler tone than was his wont. "I asked you a question once, very poorly and precipitately, and rather presumptuously. Surely, you are not indifferent to me, else you would not have invited me to your chamber. Is it too early for me to ask that question again?"

Elizabeth sighed. She knew her answer and had only to decide how best to express something so radical that it might be contained in a pamphlet.

"Why are these called Henley Falls?" she asked.

Darcy was frustrated by her evasion, but he answered politely. "I believe it is because some well loved local boy drowned here, or so the legend goes. He jumped from the top to impress his sweetheart, not realising there were rocks below the surface."

"I thought it might be something like that. Don't you see that you are asking me to do much the same thing by marrying you?"

Darcy frowned, "Are you referring to your fortune? I had thought that was likely bound up in a trust?"

"Oh, it is. But a woman gives up something far more fundamental than money in marrying—she gives up her freedom, even her identity. She is then at the whim of her husband's temperament."

Darcy's heart contracted but he refused to give up so quickly. "I admit I am not perfect, but is mine so bad?"

"Right here and now, it seems not so bad. You are not a saint like Jane, but nor are you a rogue or a boor. But these things are in a state of flux, and I cannot help feeling that these past few weeks have been the best behaviour I have seen in you. It is a lot of effort to maintain an unnatural state and cannot be done for long."

Darcy sighed. Though he thought himself to be at heart the kind of man who would love and cherish his wife, he knew there was an element of truth in her words. He had not presented himself well to the world in the last few years. How were they to know the warmth of his heart when he had only displayed the cocoon of cynicism that had enveloped it? He felt that he had turned over a new leaf but perhaps he was kidding himself. A lot of effort and introspection had guided his recent behaviour.

"I admit I am attracted to you," continued Elizabeth. "Indeed you are a very handsome man, but I do not trust these feelings. They are new and I fear they might overcome my better judgement."

"You distrust my character?"

"Oh, I know that in many ways you are a worthy man, certainly nothing like the Viscount Aldley. But then, so is my father a worthy man, in his way, and I would not like to be married to him."

"Indeed, it would be most unnatural," smiled Darcy wanly.

"You know," said Elizabeth, for she felt she owed him a better explanation, "—I never properly appreciated my mother when I was at home. I was always in league with Father, thinking her rather a silly woman, but that was most unfair. My mother is a little uneducated but she has always cared for her daughters to the best of her ability. I love my father, but he has been remarkably absent in our upbringing. He has also treated my mother with a lack of respect I have only come to appreciate since living apart from my family in London. No mother, especially one who has done her best, deserves that."

"You fear I might disrespect you?"

"I do. You have done so in the past. Perhaps my charms are currently sufficient to make you forget your disdain—just as my mother's temporarily turned my father's head when she was the local beauty—but I will not have those charms forever."

"I understand," said Darcy softly. "But let me say that I sincerely regret my former behaviour. My parents' marriage was a felicitous one, my upbringing free from any trauma but their loss. I have not conducted myself in a way to make them proud..."

"I think you are a little hard on yourself," said Elizabeth, who was uncomfortable hearing his confessional, knowing her own behaviour, driven by unaccustomed feelings, had been far from exemplary. "But I think we would not suit. You need to marry a lady of your own rank—perhaps an earl's daughter, like your father before you."

Darcy did not know what to say. Protests revolved in his head. His heart throbbed and ached in his chest. He felt more certain than ever that Elizabeth was the one for him, but he was acutely aware of having burned his own bridges. No argument seemed valid. His tongue was tied.

Elizabeth turned to stare at the vista once more, knowing this was likely her one and only visit to Pemberley, perhaps the last time she would glimpse the grandeur of this view.

"Perhaps we should be getting back," she said softly, "—if the return journey is to be completed before nightfall..."

Darcy nodded and they turned to make their way silently down.

Lizzy sat next to Darcy in the phaeton on the way back, not wishing to raise any speculations on the cause of any rearrangement. But there was an invisible barrier between them that had not been there on the outward journey. They both felt it and were pained by it. She, with only the mild regret of what might-have-been, tempered by the righteous belief of having ultimately come to the correct decision. He, with an emptiness bordering on despair.

* * *

The departure of the visitors from Pemberley had been scheduled for early the next morning, for the Gardiner children had still to be retrieved from Lambton and the aunts bid goodbye. For once Georgie got up with the sun.

Over dinner the previous night, Miss Darcy had made some last minute attempts to secure Elizabeth for longer—if not for her brother than for herself. Georgie had known that she could not detain Freddy further from his business, but she graciously offered to send him back to London in Elizabeth's carriage—for of course Elizabeth would not need it, returning instead with the Darcys in the comfort of their travelling carriage.

In saying goodbye to Freddy, Georgie perhaps did not notice the awkward parting of Elizabeth and Darcy, but preparing to join the servants in the Darcy carriage for the short trip to Lambton, the Gardiners certainly did.

The star-crossed lovers stood a little apart from the rest of the group, looking very self-conscious.

"Thank you for the invitation to Pemberley," whispered Elizabeth. "I hope we can still be friends."

"Of course," said Darcy stiffly. "And even if we never dance at Almack's, I hope to take you and Georgie to Bullock's museum before Christmas."

"I will hold you to it," said Elizabeth, with a jauntiness she did not feel.

Then Elizabeth stepped away and Darcy followed her to the carriage where Freddy was waiting to hand her in.

"Goodbye, Elizabeth," said Georgie, giving her a hug. "I will write every week!"

"I will look forward to it," smiled Elizabeth, "and in return, promise to compose long replies."

Freddy climbed into the carriage, the door was closed and the step put up. The carriages set off.

Until breakfast, the Gardiners had held out hope that some announcement would be made. They were both sorely disappointed when it did not occur. As they could not discuss the matter before the servants in the carriage, Mrs Gardiner merely pursed her lips at her husband as they set off. He shrugged in return.

After watching the carriages reach the end of the drive, Darcy and Georgie turned back to the house. Unlike the Gardiners, Georgie had not noticed anything particularly amiss and was still hopeful that progress might be made in her matchmaking schemes during the next Season. Her brother was very much an enigma to her.

Mrs Reynolds, on the other hand, had guessed that Darcy had been refused and was nigh on the way to regretting her interference. She was already bent on a program of indulgence to soften the blow. She started this by making Darcy's favourite lemon tarts for afternoon tea. She brought these to him on a silver tray full of Pemberley's best china in the afternoon with contrite words of apology.

"Do not apologise, Mrs Reynolds," said Darcy colourlessly. "You did not say anything that my father would not have said, had he been here."

Mrs Reynolds acknowledged the truth of this with a nod, but her righteousness gave her cold comfort in the months ahead as she tried to restore Darcy's waning appetite. The master seemed to have lost his zest for life, in much the same way his father had before him when Lady Anne had passed from his life.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

curricle—a glorified gig. Generally high, with a central hitching post to allow them to be drawn by two or even four horses. Ladies could travel unaccompanied with a non-relative gentlemen in such an open carriage.

Neat's tongue—beef tongue, 'neat' being an old Saxon word for cow. The tongue seems to have lived on as a euphemism. I remember my grandmother serving this, though she just called it 'ox tongue'.

Stilton—a blue cheese originally made in Leicestershire but named Stilton after a popular coaching stop in Cambridgeshire where it was sold.


	43. The miraculous Mrs Bingley

**Ouch, before burning Lizzy at the stake, remember she is not yet 21 whereas Darcy is close to thirty. She is being asked to make a life-changing decision that she doesn't need to make because she is already financially secure.**

 **A couple of you suggested courtship. However, my understanding of the process was that it was still a fairly big commitment. Women who withdrew from a courtship might** **get a reputation for being 'difficult', like Serena in Georgette Heyer's _Bath Tangle_. Plus they might no longer be 'pure'. I believe the custom that only a woman could cry off was a safety net, lest she fall pregnant during the process.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 42 were:**

 **"That's just the way the story goes",**

 **"Ain't no sunshine when she's gone",**

 **"Break another little bit of my heart now" by _suddenlysingle_ ,**

 **"End of a Dream" by** ** _Kaohing_** **,**

 **'My name is no' by** ** _goddesshera_** **,**

 **"disappointment" or "mission aborted" by** ** _Levenez_** **,**

 **"Love With No Place to Go" by** ** _nanciellen_** **,**

 **'Journeys End in Lovers' Parting' or 'The Parting of the Ways' by** ** _ilex_** **-** ** _ferox_** **,**

 **'Burnt Bridges' or 'In Need of Mending' by guest,**

 **"Two Strikes", "Pemberley Proposal", "Falling from the Edge" by** ** _DaRkRoYaLtY_**

 **Well I thought of "Groundhog Day", which is anachronistic, and gives everything away, and "Déjà Vu", which is not much better. I decided to go with "Hobson's Choice". The phrase is said to have originated with Thomas Hobson (1544–1631), a livery stable owner in Cambridge, England, who offered customers the choice of either taking the horse in his stall nearest to the door or taking none at all.**

* * *

 **Chapter 43**

Lizzy returned to London, though she found life somewhat changed there. At first she attributed it to that slight dissatisfaction one has in returning to one's everyday existence after a holiday. But when time passed and things did not improve, she realised something fundamental had changed in the new baron's household—her aunt Sempronia was just as kind to her as ever, but she had gained a new role in helping with the bank. Sempronia and John Shipley had established an efficient working relationship in Freddy's absence, which persisted after her son returned from Pemberley. The great banking house of Mickleham's was flourishing. The guest rooms of the impressive townhouse on Piccadilly were filled with new clients from the Continent and the Indies. Lizzy was the only inmate of the household without a purpose and now felt more like a hanger-on than a companion. With Freddy likely to get married in the near future, Lizzy began to think that perhaps it was time she set up her own household. She had discreetly enquired with the trustees whether that might be possible and already viewed two properties that looked equally empty and cheerless.

She thought about Darcy often. Some days Elizabeth believed she had made the right decision in rejecting him a second time and other days she did not. She tried to advise herself that it was a moot point anyway, for she could hardly expect him to ask her a third time. Yet she could not banish him from her mind, particularly when he populated the letters sent by Georgie, who seemed to be oblivious to any setback in her plans to enlist Elizabeth as her sister.

It was how she thought about Darcy that worried Elizabeth most. Her few trysts with him had wakened something in her, something she had glimpsed in her sister Lydia and somewhat despised—those so called 'animal spirits'. Lizzy wanted to be like Jane, not Lydia! Darcy had also rejected this improper aspect of Elizabeth Bennet, though he had done it gently, so as not to humiliate her. It was rather ironic that it was that part of her that wanted him most! In retrospect, his failure to induct her into the sensual arts had also made her a little angry. She blushed to think on it now, but she had effectively lowered her guard for him and been thoroughly rebuffed! Once she realised this, Lizzy worried that petulance might even have influenced her decision.

Into her mind Darcy slipped again and again, clothed during the day and shirtless in her dreams. He had seemed an arrogant, condescending nob at Netherfield and in London, though there had been signs of a thaw. Yet, he had shown different aspects of himself at Pemberley and Rosings—the hardworking master, the champion of the oppressed. But could she really have relied on him to give her sufficient independence in a marriage? He was so managing. Oh, why did he have to upset her peace of mind?

Fortunately this vexatious state of vacillation lasted only for two months, for Jane had her baby shortly after Michaelmas.* Lizzy immediately posted down to Hertfordshire in her carriage to see her sister. Indeed, she would have been there for the birth but, with that sly instinct that shields unmarried damsels from the delivery room, Mrs Bennet had declared this her prerogative. So Elizabeth arrived at Netherfield soon after the delivery to tend Jane's sleepy and perfectly angelic baby daughter—the best kind.

She had been there about three weeks, being a most useful aunt—bringing the baby to Jane during the day to be fed, talking to her sister during this pleasant but slightly tedious task, and taking the baby away to change its napkin once the inevitable throughput occurred. Jane was a most tenacious mother and at first would not let the baby from her sight. She had to be convinced to leave the child to the care of the hired nurse during the night.

To Jane, Elizabeth was a godsend during her confinement*. Though their mother visited every day, Mrs Bennet was often more of a hindrance than a help—finding problems with mother and child where there were none and filling the house with her incessant orders and chatter. Lizzy and Jane were both glad when their mother went off after lunch each day to skite* to Lady Lucas of Jane's success. Charlotte, unfortunately, was still not in a promising way, though 'young' Mr Goulding's frequent absences from home were probably chiefly to blame there.

But finally the bleeding slowed and Jane felt herself able to venture downstairs. Two days after this first occurred, the sisters were sitting down to tea together, having temporarily surrendered the babe to the nurse, when they were surprised to hear a strange carriage in the drive after Mrs Bennet's departure. As they were seated in the saloon near one of Netherfield's beautiful bay windows, it soon came into view. Lizzy was first to identify it as belonging to the Hursts.

Out stepped Caroline and her sister. Jane was immediately gratified that they had come to view the baby, but Lizzy was not so sure. Nonetheless the child was sent for and was cradled in Jane's arms when the Bingley sisters were finally announced.

Caroline and Louisa were both ecstatic over the babe, though they declined to hold it, for they were wearing silk.

Fresh tea was called for—the original pot having cooled before it was poured. The Bingley sisters divulged that they planned to stay for several days. They were not sure for how long, but Jane was happy to be finally acknowledged. She had felt slighted by their failure to visit during her pregnancy.

Over tea and biscuits, Caroline expressed her dismay upon finding that Jane was wet-nursing the baby herself. She assured her sister-in-law that whatever quaint customs existed among the lower gentry of Hertfordshire, there was really no need, for Bingley's wealth was great! Indeed, nursing one's own child was far from fashionable among the Ton!

Louisa nodded sagely throughout.

By the time Mrs Nicholls came in to announce that the ladies' chambers had been made up, if they wished to rest after their journey, Lizzy was very glad to be rid of the Bingley sisters. But she knew it would only ruffle Jane's tranquility to say so. So she contented herself by reassuring Jane in the choices she had made for the care of the child. Jane needed little confirmation. She had only to look upon her daughter to want to hold her.

Bingley came in from his ride soon after, having seen the carriage's arrival from the top paddock.

"Well, it's about time," he nodded approvingly. "I'm glad that Caroline has finally come to her senses!

"Thank you, for urging me to write once more, my dear," he said, cosying up to Jane in the sidling fashion he had developed for when she was holding the baby, "I had nigh-on given up on the both of them."

However, the real reason for Caroline's advent became apparent in the afternoon when another carriage appeared in the drive.

The Bingley sisters had retired upstairs after luncheon to recruit their strength. From his study, Bingley burst into the saloon, where the Bennets were once more tending the baby, to announce it as the Darcy carriage. Bingley seemed highly pleased but hardly surprised by his friend's arrival, and was profuse in his apologies to his wife when she expressed her ignorance of the intended visit. Bingley was sure he had mentioned that Darcy would be staying for a few days, but it later transpired that he had done so only in his letter to Caroline. All was thus explained to Lizzy's satisfaction.

It soon became apparent that Georgie had not accompanied her brother, and Elizabeth became a little agitated in having to confront him again in a place she had mistakenly thought a refuge. Having got up to stand beside Bingley at the window, Elizabeth retreated to beside her nursing sister and sat down. She had hoped to meet Darcy next in public or at least in the presence of her aunt or Georgie.

Indeed, Lizzy wondered that Miss Darcy had made no mention of the intended visit. Elizabeth had known the Darcys were coming south for the winter, but she had believed them to be stopping only briefly in Richmond to visit Lady Matlock before returning to Grosvenor Square. Elizabeth had sent her apologies to Georgie that she would not be immediately resuming her lessons with Signor Pastrini because of her intention to stay in Hertfordshire for as long as her sister needed her.

The sound of Darcy's boots on the gravel as he approached the house momentarily increased Elizabeth's agitation. His step was so distinctive! Elizabeth calmed her swiftly beating heart as she took the baby briefly to allow Jane to tidy herself. She resolved to take the first polite opportunity to abscond with the child.

He stepped into the room. Their eyes met. Then Bingley rushed forward.

"Darcy! How good of you to stop by to see us!" he declared, clapping his friend on the back in that manly version of a hug.

"Well, I know I initially only promised to be here for the christening," replied Darcy, "but I recalled we had unfinished business from my last visit—that drainage ditch that needed digging out below the ha-ha.*"

"Quite!" said Bingley, in a way that indicated he had forgotten all about it.

"And there was the shoring up of the barn wall that had that lean to it," added his friend.

Bingley nodded, unwilling to perjure himself further.

"Well, I expect you've come to see this little fellow," Charles said, temporarily forgetting he was the proud father of a daughter. "Just a girl," he added in correction, "but more fun next time!"

Jane blushed and smiled at Darcy with downcast eyes.

"Congratulations, Bingley!" replied Darcy. "Have you settled yet on a name?"

"Yes!" said Bingley. "She is to be Mathilda after my mother and Frances after Jane's! I thought of it in a flash!—after all those months dwelling on boys' names!"

Darcy nodded his approval on Bingley's decisiveness. "Sound decision. And I hope you are feeling better, Mrs Bingley? My housekeeper was of the opinion you might still be confined to your rooms."

"Thank you, Mr Darcy, I have been downstairs for the past two days. Mother and Elizabeth have been such a help!"

Darcy turned to Elizabeth. His eyes softened and he seemed on the verge of saying something when Caroline suddenly swept back into the room, effusing vivacity.

Miss Bingley utterly dominated the next five minutes of conversation until Louisa came in—asking Darcy of his journey, enquiring about his sister, and beginning to relay all the on-dits* that had circulated in town during his absence.

Elizabeth watched in fascination as two doors seemed to shut behind Darcy's eyes—large ones, like on a carriage house. Yet his face remained passively polite. Unconsciously, she smiled to herself.

Then the tea came in and Elizabeth took the baby while Jane resumed her duties as hostess. Caroline seemed oblivious there was work to do, merely shooing a footman out of her way with annoyance when the servant managed to get between herself and Darcy as he moved more chairs to the expanded table.

Just as Elizabeth got up to proceed to the table, there was a loud squeak, little Matty gave a contented sigh and closed her eyes in blissful satisfaction.

"Ah! There she goes!" said Bingley, chucking his daughter under her chin. "Ever reliable!"

Caroline shuddered.

"Excuse me," said Elizabeth, clutching the child to her bosom.

And then she was gone.

* * *

Darcy was standing in the darkened upstairs sitting room of Netherfield, watching the sun set. He had dressed early for dinner and then slipped into the room to avoid Caroline, who had formerly been in the habit of coming to the door of his chamber to ask his opinion on which parure* she should wear for the evening.

As Darcy stood there, a clack of heels make their way along the hall followed by the inevitable knock. A door opened, and Darcy heard his valet explain that he had already gone off. He moved silently away from the window into the shadows, lest Caroline decide to peep into the sitting room. Only when he heard the heels descend the stairs did he relax.

Darcy had had several months to ponder Elizabeth's behaviour at Pemberley. His thinking had considerably evolved. After recovering from his initial defeat and loss, he had started tasting his food again, and become quite angry—mostly at her behaviour, which might have compromised them both. But he had reserved a little of this anger for himself, for allowing himself to be so drawn in.

While he had been paradoxically attracted and simultaneously repulsed by her flirtatious behaviour at Pemberley, Darcy had eventually come to realise it was just another aspect of her candid personality. There was no artifice in her. Indeed, why should there be any shame in her curiosity? Gentlemen were inducted into these things in their youths, but ladies were meant to remain oblivious and pure until their wedding night when they suddenly metamorphosed into willing lovers, filling their husband's needs for kisses and caresses. And when this miraculous transfiguration failed to occur, the husbands went back to their mistresses. Just who had decided that this damnable system was workable?

This softening in his attitude had finally allowed Darcy to digest Elizabeth's words at Henley Falls, which had sat in his gut like so much gravel for several weeks. She was right, the odds were tipped damnably in men's favour. While he had always known this, he had believed that men and women had their allocated roles; that gentlemanly behaviour acknowledged and compensated for this. He had to admit, after much consideration, that this system often failed to work—that many gentlemen were no better than callous rakes or insufferable boors. Once married, a lady was held hostage by her vows, often left to bring up the children on some remote country estate with only the servants as companions.

What Elizabeth had done was not so bad. She had not followed him round like a dog rounding up sheep or tried to trap him in a room. She had merely indicated her willingness to explore their compatibility. He might have taken the chance to indulge her senses a little more instead of acting like a stick in the mud. Who would want to marry such a cold fish? Darcy felt Elizabeth combined his own cautious approach to the mating ritual in public but was willing to take calculated risks in private to help make a rational decision. In short, she was brave—someone who was willing to throw convention to the winds and follow her instincts. Braver than he.

As he stood there, rueing precipitate actions and lost opportunities, Darcy wondered if he had done the right thing in coming to Netherfield after all. He envied Bingley, realising his friend had discovered in Jane Bennet that rare bird Darcy had deemed impossible, the woman who was easily able to metamorphose from maiden to willing bride and loving mother. Or rather, Darcy envied Bingley's luck, for he certainly did not covet his bride, who he still thought a little insipid. But the Bingleys seem to suit each other admirably. Darcy was glad he had been able to help Bingley over the little fence in his path to true love. It was a pity his cousin Richard's advice had not had a similar charm for him...

The sun had just sunk below the horizon when Darcy was startled by the sound of an opening door. He turned towards the hall door in surprise, thinking Caroline had finally sneaked up on him, only to find it still open wide. But a shaft of light from the right soon revealed his mistake, there was a second door into the room that he had completely forgotten about, having never seen it open during his tenure at Netherfield. Elizabeth Bennet had just walked into the room, carrying the baby.

"I beg your pardon..." Darcy began.

"Oh, heavens!" cried Elizabeth, visibly jumping but fortunately not losing her grip on the child. "What are you doing, here in the dark?"

"Watching the sun set," replied Darcy, only half-truthfully. "Forgive me, it had not occurred to me that this room likely communicated with Mrs Bingley's chamber."

"That's right, you stayed at Lucas Lodge for the wedding," mused Elizabeth. "It doesn't directly. There is a small private sitting room between the two, but it has no external door to the hall. I am currently sleeping there."

"But why are you crammed in so? Have I displaced you from the room across the hall?"

"Oh, no! I am merely staying close to Jane so that I might help with the baby. It has to be fed before midnight and then again before dawn."

"Good Lord!" said Darcy, aghast. "Is it so with all babies?"

"I believe so. Little Mathilda here spends a quarter of her day nursing, so it helps to have Aunt Lizzy on hand."

Darcy was speechless but soon remembered his manners. "Forgive me, you remind me that I am intruding. I am, no doubt, disturbing the baby. I should go."

"Actually, she sleeps better if you talk quietly beside her, but do not go quite yet. At the very least I owe you an apology. I did not mean to be so teasing at Pemberley. I'm not sure what came over me. No doubt it has given you a disgust of me. Rest assured I will not bother you during your stay here. Indeed, I have my hands full with this little one," she said, indicating the baby with a nod of her head.

Darcy knew if there was one person he would be glad to be bothered by, it was Elizabeth Bennet. "Your attentions could never disgust me. If I ever implied that was the case, I am very sorry for it. I always hoped to marry a passionate woman and I at least have the consolation that my judgement did not err in that respect—that you have that spark I was looking for. Who knows? Lightning may strike twice. I found one such lady within the first ten years I was looking, perhaps another may come along in the next ten."

Lizzy was not quite sure what to say to this. For the first time since encountering him, a perception of their different reference frames dawned on her. She felt she was only just starting on her adventure of life as an adult, rejoicing in her unhampered independence, wary of being caged again. Whereas he had already wearied of that state and longed to be rid of his solitude.

"I hope you are not distressed by my arrival here," said Darcy, afraid his conversation had become too intimate. "Georgie told me you were staying with Jane. So when Bingley first suggested I drop in on my way south, I thought I had better not come—you might think I was bothering you. But then I thought, if we are still to be friends... a friend would drop in, would they not?"

This speech, in all its humility, almost brought Lizzy to tears. After being refused twice, Darcy had every reason to be annoyed with her. Yet he had remembered what she had said and taken it on board. She was glad that the room was dark but of course, being her father's daughter, she could not help teasing him. With a quick sniff, she swallowed her tears. "And, of course, you 'dropped in' on your way south by going via Richmond..."

Darcy sighed. "I'm afraid Georgie still has hopes that we might make a match of it. I thought her presence might be too awkward."

"Fitzwilliam Darcy, even if you did ask me a third time, I would have to say no on the basis that you are too good for me. You must be the only adult I know who actively tries to reform himself. You think and you try, just like I remember doing after Church on Sunday when I was a child—only I seemed to grow out of it."

A sliver of hope kissed Darcy's heart. "You did not grow out of it," he replied softly. "You just did it so often that it became second nature. That was what first attracted me to you—your solicitude for your ill sister. And here you are again, helping her when you could be in London, flirting at a ball, surrounded by admirers."

Lizzy was silent for a moment, wavering yet again. She still felt it was too soon, but she didn't fancy returning to London to all those admirers, who were likely all after her money. Fitzwilliam Darcy was clearly a good man and she was attracted to him. She wasn't obliged to marry at all, but just exactly what was she going to do with her life if she did not? Staying at Netherfield had certainly given her a glimpse that domestic bliss might be possible.

"Do you still think enough of this lady to allow her to change her mind?" she asked.

Darcy peered at her in the dim light spilling from the adjacent sitting room, unwilling to believe his ears.

"After holding this little sweetheart," explained Elizabeth as she kissed the baby. "I am no longer sure I am willing to do this by proxy."

Darcy's heart swelled. As it was not possible to clasp her in his arms because of the baby, he did the only thing possible. Stepping behind her to clasp her swaying body by the shoulders, he rested his cheek on the top of her head.

"Then, Elizabeth Bennet, will you be my wife?"

"Yes, Fitzwilliam Darcy, I will."

They swayed together for a moment.

"You will manage me horribly!" moaned Lizzy as she leaned a little into his arms.

"And then you'll put me in my place," soothed Darcy.

"Oh, she's asleep!" whispered Lizzy, remembering once more the babe in her arms. "Excuse me, I should put her in her cot. Do go down to dinner. I shall be with you shortly."

Completely disobeying his orders, Darcy followed her to the open door and peeped into the tiny sitting room. It seemed not much larger than a nun's cell. It contained a day bed, a cot, and a single window.

"Does the baby sleep here with you all night?" he asked. "It cannot be restful."

"Only till the midnight feed," Lizzy replied. "Then she is taken to the nursery."

"Do you need to change for dinner?" he asked.

"Oh, no! I've been sticking to my muslins here," she replied, tucking the baby in. "They are ever so practical."

"Then I will wait for you in the sitting room, so that we might go down together."

Lizzy made no objection and Darcy withdrew to sit patiently in the darkness until she was ready, his mind whirling on what his next moves should be. But he had only been there for a few minutes, listening to Lizzy instruct the nursemaid who must have come in through Jane's bedchamber door, when he heard Caroline's footsteps ascend the stairs once more.

Calmly, he got up, quietly closed the door to the hall and locked it.

"What are you doing?" asked Lizzy, walking back into the room with a candle.

"Shh!" said Darcy. "Caroline's coming!"

Lizzy put the candle on a sideboard. Then they stood together listening.

Once more the footsteps traversed the hall to Darcy's bedchamber, there was a knock, and Darcy heard his valet once more deny any knowledge of his master's whereabouts. But Caroline's footsteps did not subsequently retreat, but instead approached the closed door. There was a knock at the door, followed by the squeak of a turning handle and finally the rattling thereof.

"Darcy? Are you coming down to dinner?" came Caroline's voice. "Open the door! It seems to be stuck!"

Without thinking, Lizzy stepped forward to defend him. "I'm trying to put the baby to sleep, Caroline," she hissed into the space between the door and the jamb.

"In a locked room?" sneered Caroline.

Elizabeth could almost picture Miss Bingley rolling her eyes. She did not deign to answer this question, but instead started humming a lullaby.

"Well, if you see him, tell him we are all waiting for him downstairs," came Caroline's voice.

They waited for the footsteps to retreat again.

"It must be nearly seven," said Lizzy. "We should go down."

"Wait, should we announce it tonight, or should I first ask your father's permission?"

"My father won't have anything to say on the matter beyond teasing you a bit," said Lizzy. "But I suppose, since we are in Hertfordshire. It would be polite."

"Then, there is only one more thing I wish to do before going downstairs, now that you have divested yourself of the livestock..."

"Matty is not livestock!" Elizabeth protested as she was drawn into Darcy's arms.

What followed was a room-turning kiss.

"You've been holding out on me!" gasped Lizzy as she was finally released.

"I have," said Darcy smugly.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

Michaelmas—29th September, one of the so-called 'quarter-days' when allowances were paid. tenancies began and rents were paid.

confinement or 'lying-in' continued for up to six weeks after the birth. It was common practice for the room to be kept darkened and warm.

skite—boast

ha-ha— a recessed landscape design element that creates a vertical barrier while preserving an uninterrupted view of the landscape beyond. Wikipedia

on dits—a rumour; piece of gossip. Early 19th century, from French, literally: it is said, they say.

parure—a set of jewels intended to be worn together.


	44. A family affair

**Ah, the end of the story is nigh. Like so many gnats the guest reviewers swarm. At least some of them choose not to sting.**

 **Thanks to** ** _Lisa_** **for pointing out the partially missing footnotes and a mistake therein. Thanks also to** ** _beaty_** **for prompting on the milk blooper in chapter 38. The mistake had previously been pointed out and fixed in the master but I have now fixed it online as well.**

 **It's been over a month since there's been a review for** ** _Go Down Red Roses._** **If you would like the story to stay up, please read and review.**

 **Suggestions for title of Chapter 43 were**

 **"Third times a charm" by** ** _FatPatricia515_** **,**

 **'Journeys End in Lovers' Meeting' or, if that is too premature, 'A Change of Direction' or 'Try, try, try again' by** ** _ilex-ferox_** **,**

 **'Happy Day' by** ** _Kaohing_** **,**

 **"Finding my way home" ( taken from a line from the song 'Never Give Up' by Sia )**

 **"Feel the love and let it in" ( 'Heart Hope' by Oh Wonder ) By** ** _NotACursedChild_** **,**

 **"rewarded third" by** ** _auladarcy_** **,**

 **'What Goes Around Comes Around' by** ** _nanciellen_** **,**

" **Third time's a charm", "At last!" by** ** _suddenlysingle_** **,**

 **"She runs hot, now cold, now hot again!" by** ** _Jansfamily4_** **,**

 **"Best is yet to come" or "Always on my mind" by** ** _justafan2111_** **,**

 **'Third Times the Charm' or 'Caving In' by** ** _guest_**

 **"Opening locked doors" by guest,**

 **"No longer nursing a broken heart", "Making a match of it",**

 **"Sound decision," "Brave hearts", "Rebuffed no more" by guest,**

 **"AT last!" by** ** _MerytonMiss_**

 **Thanks for all the suggestions but a lot of them pre-empted the chapter. I liked "Always on my mind" by** ** _justafan211_** **. I thought of "The miraculous Mrs Bingley", "The Matty factor", and riffing on justafan211's title, "Baby, you're on my mind". My favourite was the third one, but I thought it gave too much away, so I decided to go with the first.**

* * *

 **Chapter 43**

Dinner was rather tedious. Caroline dominated the conversation with more town gossip. This was interspersed with questions designed to flatter Darcy and observations crafted to undermine her competition, both back in town and sitting at the table.

"Miss Dunlop is such a sweet girl," Caroline cooed, "but her father's fortune has been quite swept away by the collapse of the Cornish steamship company! It is rumoured that he will not even be able to pay her dowry! I do hope you are not exposed there, dear Elizabeth?"

After several weeks of early mornings and late nights, Lizzy was too tired to reply with any wit to these sallies but she couldn't stop her sluggish mind from closely observing the proceedings. It was a very one-sided dialogue, with Darcy answering Caroline's questions with polite economy, completely impervious to her charm offensives. Lizzy began to realise that part of the arrogance she had once ascribed to Darcy when she thought him in league with Caroline was actually great forbearance on his part. He had tremendous strength of mind to remain impervious to her blandishments. Since her arrival in London, Lizzy had seen several men beguiled to the altar by shockingly transparent efforts in flattery.

It was not possible to speak to Darcy again before they retired, for Caroline and Louisa followed him upstairs from the drawing room to his bedchamber door, where they detained the entire family on the landing with their repartee. Possibly disturbed by the noise, little Matty woke up early for her midnight feed, causing Jane and Elizabeth to bid the others goodnight. Yet the Bingley sisters continued to detain the gentlemen. It was not until a good half-hour later that Caroline and Louisa finally retired to the guest wing.

Waking early because of Matty and knowing Darcy's habits, Lizzy took herself down to breakfast at eight, leaving the freshly changed baby napping peacefully in the crib near her sleepy but contented mother. As expected, Darcy came in from his ride soon after and they were able to breakfast privately together, for none of the Bingleys were early risers.

"Would it be too early to ride over to Longbourn as soon as I finish here?" Darcy asked as he sipped his coffee. "I expect I would arrive by nine."

"It is the country! A call at such an early hour would not be thought odd. But you may have to bear with Mama's intense speculation on the nature of your call," whispered Lizzy as the footman withdrew from the room. "If you wait until ten, she will have departed for Netherfield and you may visit unmolested."

"I think I can withstand a little attention from your mother," smiled Darcy. "Indeed, given my trials and tribulations, I believe I shall positively enjoy it!"

Lizzy just laughed and shook her head.

She waved him goodbye at the front door and returned to Jane.

* * *

However, Darcy's appearance at Longbourn did not quite have the effect on her mother that Lizzy had anticipated. Greeting him in the hallway before he could even be announced, Mrs Bennet was all anxiety lest he be the bearer of bad news regarding Jane or the child.

Having reassured the mistress of Longbourn on that head, Darcy then requested a word with the squire. Such was Mrs Bennet's doubt in Mr Darcy's ability to ever be a lover to any of her daughters, she could not immediately jump to the obvious conclusion, no matter how inclined she was to find a beau under every rock.

Darcy could not help teasing her a little by talking on the changing seasons and thus implying he had come to seek her husband for advice on agricultural business.

But when Mr Bennet was summoned by his wife from the breakfast room, he was not for a moment fooled into thinking that a young know-it-all like Mr Darcy would apply to him for information—a squire so disinterested in his estate that the epithet of 'lazy' was occasionally bandied about by common folk who knew nothing of books.

Nonetheless, Mr Bennet showed Darcy into his study and offered his guest port, which was declined. So he poured a glass for himself instead.

"I am not sure how this will sit on top of the coffee," mused Mr Bennet as he observed the dark red liquid in the glass like so much medicine, "but I have a feeling I am going to need it."

After clearing his throat, Darcy got straight to the point. "I have come to ask for your daughter Elizabeth's hand in marriage, sir."

"Ah!" said Mr Bennet. "You have confirmed the most unlikely of my suspicions! Despite her recent popularity, I had not expected my Lizzy to go off so soon after Jane and Mary."

Mr Bennet smacked his lips together, as if contemplating the mixture of coffee and port. "You do realise the bulk of Elizabeth's money is held in trust?" he asked.

"I do, sir," replied Darcy solemnly. "I can assure you that my motives are not mercenary. In fact, I am willing to forgo any dowry."

"Well, well, I'm sure the trustees will agree with me in thinking we need not go so far as that," said Mr Bennet. "But tell me, how did this wonderful romance proceed? If you will excuse my saying so, I was under the impression that Lizzy had taken an active dislike to you when you were here in Hertfordshire. Perhaps things changed in London, but I do not recall her mentioning it in any of her letters..."

Darcy had suspected this would not be easy and had come ready to abase himself to whatever degree was necessary.

"Indeed, I do apologise for my behaviour on first coming into Hertfordshire, sir. I had grown rather weary of avoiding pursuit in London but should have left my prejudices in town. I have come to appreciate your daughter is a gem, Mr Bennet, but I had some trouble convincing her of my devotion. I was obliged to ask Elizabeth for her hand three times."

Mr Bennet smiled to himself. "Ah! That sounds more like a probable story! Well, I have always know her for a gem, Mr Darcy. So she made you suffer a little, did she? Well, good for her! You probably needed it."

"I know it, sir," said Darcy quietly.

"Well, well!" said Mr Bennet, made uncomfortable by this show of humility. "Of course you have my permission, son. She knows her mind."

Despite Darcy's earlier declination, Mr Bennet poured his guest a glass of port.

"Here's to a long and happy marriage," he said, handing it to Darcy. "Just don't get upset if she teases you a bit. She is my daughter after all."

Darcy smiled and chinked glasses.

* * *

Despite Mr Bennet's offer to let him off the hook, it was Darcy's staunch intention to remain at Longbourn until Mrs Bennet was told of the happy news and endure any effusions that might result.

A sensible man with a overexcitable wife might have summoned her to his study so that the news could be broken to the family by degrees. But once Mr Bennet saw that Darcy had decided to be a champ, he could not resist having a little fun with the situation.

Thus, after disposing of the celebratory port, Mr Bennet accompanied his future son-in-law to the breakfast room where Mrs Bennet was presiding over a breakfast over tea, toast and jam with her two youngest daughters. The squire walked in, in much the manner of a fellow rubbing his hands together with barely-contained glee.

"Well, my dear," said Mr Bennet. "Here is Mr Darcy, who has been so obliging as to offer for Lizzy."

With the toast in her hand poised halfway between her teacup and her mouth, Mrs Bennet's mouth gaped and she narrowly avoided having the drooping bread fall back into the soup in which it had been dipped. Kitty and Lydia adopted similar gaping poses and Darcy could well see the family likeness.

"Oh! Mr Darcy!" squealed Mrs Bennet, recovering herself and jumping to her feet. "You will find her the very best of wives! No one around here was ever good enough for her! Lizzy is very thoughtful, even if she does occasionally forget her tongue. La! And she could have married whoever took her fancy, being as rich as she is! But this will bring you better connections, Kitty and Lydia! Perhaps your sister might even invite you to stay in London!"

Mr Darcy smiled serenely, but sincerely hoped the young ladies' interest in redcoats would keep them at home.

Having enumerated the advantageous nature of the match to all and sundry, Mrs Bennet was suddenly struck by what a handsome man Mr Darcy was when his lip was not curled in disdain. She belatedly launched herself at Darcy, demanding to kiss her future son-in-law. He stooped down obligingly to receive a peck on the cheek and a pat on the upper arm of his tailcoat—like he had been a good boy.

"La! You are so tall!" Mrs Bennet exclaimed as he righted himself.

Mr Bennet, discovering his enjoyment of the situation had not met his expectations, took himself off.

"Very good!" he muttered as he disappeared through the doorway. "All's well that ends well!"

* * *

It had been agreed between Darcy and Mrs Bennet that she should delay her advent at Netherfield that day to give Darcy time to apprise the Bingleys of his good fortune.

When Darcy returned to Netherfield, he first sought Elizabeth to apprise her of his success. But upon encountering Mrs Nicholls on the stairs, carrying a can of warm water up to her mistress, he was advised that Miss Bennet was currently with Mrs Bingley and the baby. Darcy contented himself with asking the housekeeper to pass on the message that 'all had gone well'.

Darcy went instead to Bingley's chamber where he was admitted by Bingley's valet. Bingley was still in his chemise, having just been shaved. His reaction to his friend's news was all amiability. While Bingley had once hoped that his friend and Caroline might make a match of it, thus making them brothers, his enthusiasm for the idea had waned since his marriage—he could not overlook his sister's cold reception of Jane. In his excitement, Bingley gave Darcy a proper hug—it was all right now, for this happy outcome meant they would be brothers after all!

Similarly, Elizabeth had apprised Jane of developments when her sister had woken from her nap for Matty's next feed, convinced as she was that her parents could have no objection. Though Lizzy had spoken nothing of Mr Darcy's proposals or her turbulent indecision, Jane was not so surprised as her mother. Despite Lizzy's letters, Jane had not been entirely convinced that the trip to Pemberley had been merely to promote their cousin Freddy's interests. Jane had also noticed her sister's behaviour or Mr Darcy's arrival at Netherfield the previous day. She hugged her sister and expressed her heartfelt opinion that no friend of her husband could be anything but a saint in disguise.

* * *

When Caroline came downstairs with Louisa for breakfast at eleven, she was primped to her perfection but in a decidedly bad mood, for she had not slept well because of her scheming.

Alas! Her plans had been hatched in an unfortunate state of ignorance. She had neglected to correspond regularly with her brother since his marriage, and thus was completely unaware that Elizabeth had visited Pemberley in the summer.

Being generally remiss in his correspondence, Bingley had taken to dropping in on his sisters at Hurst's townhouse, typically when he was in London on business. They frequently gave him short shrift, always poised to go out visiting or shopping, but he went way well content, having performed his family duty.

Only the baby's imminent birth and Jane's subsequent confinement had changed this pattern. Thus, Caroline had received her brother's recent blotchy letter revealing Darcy's visit at a most opportune time. She had just suffered another setback, when Sir Timothy Flugelby—a plump pigeon in both body and purse—had absconded, improbably stolen by Lady Anthea Ingleham! Caroline had thus decided on making another concerted push for the elusive Mr Darcy.

On sitting down to the breakfast table with her sister, Caroline was further annoyed to discover upon enquiry that Mrs Bennet had not already been and gone, as Mrs Nicholls had assured her was the regular pattern of Mrs Bennet's visits. Now she would have to endure the odious mother-in-law for tea!

But on hearing the gentlemen talking as they came down the stairs, Caroline pulled herself together like the real trooper she was. Yet her brother did not immediately enter the breakfast room, so Caroline remained with her fork poised over the dish of fried lambs kidneys and mushrooms she had requested as a beauty aid. It was just like her brother to detain Darcy by greeting his syrupy wife first! Aye! And she would probably bring that wailing child into the breakfast room!

Jane did indeed arrive in the breakfast room with her perfectly contented baby a few minutes later. She was looking tired but her usual serene self. Caroline might have noticed there was an extra special sweetness to Jane's smile that morning, but she was too busy observing with satisfaction that Elizabeth was also looking a little tired.

"Did the baby keep you up, dear Jane?" asked Caroline with feigned concern.

"No more than usual," replied Jane placidly, glancing down lovingly at the bundle in her arms.

"And you, too, Elizabeth?" continued Caroline. "You are looking sadly tired!"

"Well, I'm tired of this conversation," announced Bingley, in the manner of a man who had made a bon mot. "See here, Caroline! Darcy is to be one of the family! He and Elizabeth are to make a match of it!"

"But that's impossible!" shrieked Caroline, suspecting her brother of a cruel joke. She turned to Darcy, "You have only been here one day and can have had no time to make such a proposal!"

"I requested Miss Bennet's hand at Pemberley," replied Darcy suavely, with what Elizabeth could only describe as admirable front.

"Then why did you not announce it yesterday?" snapped Caroline, sure she had uncovered a farce.

"I rode over to Longbourn this morning to seek Mr Bennet's blessing," replied Darcy, unruffled.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Caroline's face turned a deep shade of red. Bingley was on the verge of giving his sister a set down for her rudeness, to show Darcy he was finally wearing the pants in his family—a mad scheme almost certain to result in an eruption of Vesuvian* proportions.

They were all saved by the sound of the arrival of a carriage. Mrs Bennet had come to congratulate her second daughter on her good fortune. It was almost more than Caroline could bear. But there was no escape, for her brother had hemmed her in at the table.

When Mrs Bennet waltzed in with her youngest daughters, with all the familiarity of one who owned the place, all Caroline could do was give a sickly facsimile of a smile. Hugs for both her eldest daughters ensued. But Mrs Bennet's subsequent crowing was almost unendurable and made doubly worse by commiserating looks from Louisa. Kitty and Lydia added salt to the wound by giggling excitably.

Caroline glared at Elizabeth Bennet with resentment, but Lizzy was too busy sharing happy looks with Darcy, who was bearing Mrs Bennet's triumph with placid equanimity.

Finally, Mrs Bennet and her daughters went off to share the news with Lady Lucas.

Caroline saved face in the afternoon by declaring her visit at an end—now that she and Louisa had seen and blessed the baby, she thought it best to leave mother and child to recuperate without the nuisance of extra guests. Here she gave pointed looks at Lizzy and Darcy. Without further ado, she and Louisa returned to town.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

Mount Vesuvius—an active volcano best known for burying the Roman City of Pompeii in AD 79. The volcano was topical again during the Regency period. It erupted six times in the 18th century (including 1779 and 1794).


	45. Chapter 45

**Sorry, I needed to stop for a while to regroup. If you can't say something positive, could I at least ask you to reserve your scorn regarding the woeful characterisations or dreadful structure until the 'Complete' flag is set. Unconstructive criticism is very inhibitory to the creative process and the end of a long story is always the most difficult part—a bit like landing a jumbo jet.**

 **Thanks to _beaty_ , _alix33_ and _Lee3619_ for reporting several more typos, which should now be fixed.**

 **Suggestions for title of Chapter 44 were:**

 **"Foiled, Again" by _Kaohing_ ,**

 **"Welcome to the Family" by _FatPatricia515_ ,**

 **"Hoisted by Her Own Petard" by _nanciellen_ ,**

 **"A contest for (bad) behaviour" by _beaty_ ,**

 **"Unanticipated Blessing" "Precipitous Announcement" by _DaRkRoYaLtY_ ,**

 **"Designs and Disappointments" by _Lee3619_ ,**

 **Inspired by _FatPatricia515's_ suggestion, I went for "A family affair".**

 **Thank you to everyone who submitted titles to the chapter-naming competition. All winners went into a draw to win a Kindle version of one of my books (three to give away). The first numbers drawn were 38, 27, 11 & 44.**

 **38 "The person from Porlock" by _ilex_ -ferox**

 **27 "Con brio" by _ilex-ferox_**

 **11 "Happy Bearday" by _Windchimed_**

 **44 "A family affair" by _FatPatricia515_**

 **As you can see, the first two were by the same reviewer, which is why I drew a fourth. Congratulations to the winners. Expect an email from me, giving instructions on how to claim your prize.**

* * *

 **Chapter 45**

Darcy was dreaming he was playing with a cat. He was partly outside the dream, for he knew he did not own a cat, but he was having trouble reassuring himself this was the case. He opened one eye to discover his wife bent over him in bed, alternately pressing his nipple—as if it were a button—and poking the muscle of his chest. Her hair was loose, tumbled down her back, and very untidy. His heart thumped as he registered her bare breasts. A torrent of memories flooded into his mind, as wild and untamed as the most violent Derbyshire storm. Making love to Elizabeth had unleashed something within him that he barely knew he possessed—a passion so strong that it felt barely civilised. He had fought with himself for control, worried that he might hurt or scare her, but she had responded fearlessly to the occasion and met him halfway.

"What are you doing?" he asked blearily, but with some amusement.

"It's so similar, yet so different," Lizzy mused, stroking the hair on his chest. "And you seemed so determined to sleep," she smiled mischievously. "Mrs Flowers has brought our breakfast to the door, Fitzwilliam Alexander."

"Have I done something wrong to have my second name employed?" queried Darcy.

"Oh, no!" said Lizzy airily. "I was just trying it out—one of life's little mysteries solved, you know."

"I think I am not awake yet," murmured Darcy. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Your middle name was the subject of a least a week's speculation among the ladies of the Ton once you loaned your handkerchief to Miss Cleevely—two different peerages disagreed on the subject. Now the wedding ceremony has settled it for good. Thank heavens for that! Now let's eat."

"Hungry, are you?" asked Darcy, reaching out to stroke her bare shoulder before rising to his elbow to kiss her gently.

"Famished," replied Lizzy. "I could eat an ox."

Darcy could not resist grasping her in his arms and pushing her down onto the bed to kiss her more thoroughly. He could hardly believe she was finally his! His body had that delicious 'used' feeling to it, so often associated with sport, yet he was far from exhausted. He would have liked to make love to her yet again. But when her tummy rumbled, he released Elizabeth with a laugh. In deference to her hunger, Darcy restrained himself.

He watched with admiration as Elizabeth slipped naked from the bed and drew on his mother's golden banyan, which had been included in a package of presents from Georgiana. She had the lithe body of a naiad. This thought almost proved disastrous as the blood rushed to his nether regions, threatening to overcome him once more with lust. Darcy closed his eyes briefly to calm himself then got up quickly to pull on his own banyan, which had been tossed onto a chair beside the bed.

After he retrieved the tray from the hall, they sat down together at his writing table near the window to break their fast as the sun streamed into the room, stirring the dust motes. Their conversation was domestic and commonplace as she removed the covers from the plates and he poured the coffee. But after she had taken the edge off her hunger, Elizabeth sipped her coffee ruminatively and peeped at him over the brim of the cup, her dark eyes twinkling.

"Yes?" prompted Darcy, sensing she was on the verge of saying something outrageous.

"Well, that was an education!" she laughed.

He reached for her free hand. "I hope I didn't hurt you," he said quietly. "I tempered my feelings well enough in the beginning but fear I may have lost a little control later on."

"It only hurt at the start when you were at your most gentle," Lizzy reassured him, twisting her hand around to stroke the inside of his palm. Then, as if conquering her embarrassment, "Though I will take Jane to task for saying it hardly hurt at all! What a fib! Perhaps it is like having a baby—that what you get is so good that you forget about the pain."

Darcy bit his lip to hide a smile of gratification. "Your sister is a horse rider. Perhaps that lessened the pain for her."

"I thought that was an old wive's tale," mused Lizzy.

"I cannot say with any certainty, but I could feel the hymen, which was why I used my hand initially. I had heard it could be painful if it was still intact."

"Well, you were well informed!" remarked Lizzy. "Is that part of a gentleman's education at those bawdy houses?"

"No!" said Darcy pointedly, but not without amusement. What would she say next? "I don't expect many virgins reside there. My uncle gave me some advice."

"Oh, heavens!" laughed Lizzy. "Well, I would like to have been a fly on the wall when that occurred! Your uncle seems to be a man of... ahem...some experience."

"Yes," agreed Darcy ruefully. "Yet you also seemed well prepared?"

"Oh, yes!" said Lizzy airily. "I had no less than three sessions: first with my aunt Sempronia, when it was not clear that Mama would make it to London after all; then, with my mother and Aunt Gardiner when they did finally arrive; and lastly with Jane, to reconcile the wildly different versions of the likely occurrences."

Darcy raised his brows. "Dare I ask for the source of the discrepancy?" he said with mock trepidation.

"Well, my aunt Sempronia said you were likely a man of refined tastes and loaned me a book which was filled with the most extraordinary sketches of couples in exotic dress... or undress. My mother, on the other hand, said you were likely to be a man of few words; that I should be ready to submit for once and hold my tongue, and not to mind being pushed and poked about."

Darcy tried not to laugh, for he felt he was lucky that his bride had not run away as fast as she could before the ceremony. "And Jane?" prompted Darcy.

"Well, she thought my aunt's book was very interesting, but possibly best saved for later. As for mother's advice, Jane agreed there was a degree of pushing and poking but assured me it was of the most pleasant kind."

"Well, now I am going to have to agree with Bingley," said Darcy ruefully.

"On what?" asked Lizzy.

"He has married an angel." smirked Darcy.

* * *

They parted with a kiss so that Lizzy might return to her strange new room in the Darcy townhouse so that Madeleine might dress her. The chamber had all been very tastefully decorated in the French manner of yesteryear for Darcy's mother, Lady Anne. It felt a million miles from the cosy room Lizzy had shared with Jane at Longbourn. It was a little intimidating, a bit like occupying a room in a palace.

Darcy had, several years ago, removed to his father's former chamber on the third floor so that Georgie and her companion might have the second floor to themselves when the family was in town. He had adapted his father's chamber to his own needs but his mother's room next door had stayed untouched and dormant, waiting for a new mistress to inhabit it. That was why they had both opted to spend their first night together in Darcy's room. Lizzy had already ordered new curtains and hangings from a proprietor on Bond Street, recommended to her by her aunt Sempronia. They were to be in much the same colour palette as cousin Freddy's old room, which she felt would remind her of her time with her aunt and that short but interesting transition period before she really understood what was important in life—home and family. But it would be another week before they would arrive.

In a few days Elizabeth and Darcy would be off to spend a sennight in Hemel Hempstead, at a lodge belonging to one of Darcy's friends. The Ton seemed to have this little tradition of hosting each other during the honeymoon period, possibly to provide some privacy from gossiping family servants. The Darcys would then stay briefly again at Netherfield so that a proper celebration could be held at Longbourn for Lizzy's wedding.

Of course, Georgie's first reaction to the happy news had been to declare her wish for a double wedding. This suited neither Darcy's wish to be married as soon as possible nor his belief that Georgie needed to grow up a bit before heading to the altar. In the end, Lizzy suggestion that they could spend some time together as sisters changed Georgie's mind. After all, Lizzy had pointed out, if they got married simultaneously, they would just be changing positions like counterweights on a clock, with Georgie going to Mickleham House just as Lizzy left it.

Rather than going to her aunt at Richmond, Georgie had gone to stay with Jane at Netherfield during the honeymoon period. Lizzy had been gratified when they had become the best of friends in the short interim between Darcy's proposal and the wedding. She had felt that two people who she loved so much must naturally like each other, and so it had turned out to be.

Of course, Elizabeth's stay at Netherfield after Matty's birth had brought several revelations. Not only had Elizabeth glimpsed the joy of motherhood, she had realised that she could not continue to cling to Jane forever. They would always be close, but Bingley and her children would now always be Jane's dearest delight.

But having effectively lost her first forever friend by her marriage to Bingley, Lizzy felt she had found another in Fitzwilliam Darcy. He had seemed far from an ideal partner at first, but every day she knew him a little better, Lizzy grew in admiration for him—the man who strived to adapt himself to her. He was older and a little more set in his ways, so Lizzy knew she would likely have to breach more than half the gap. But he was willing to try, which was what seemed to make him different to most gentlemen of her acquaintance.

The wedding ceremony in London had gone off without a hitch despite several alarms. They had known beforehand that Mrs Bennet was not a good traveller. The plan had been to bring her from Longbourn in easy stages in Lizzy's well-sprung carriage. But when his wife had incessantly complained of her increasing aches and pains as the journey progressed, Mr Bennet had given up in frustration halfway and gone on to his sister's house in Piccadilly alone. He had left his wife moaning about her discomfort at the best inn at St Albans, tended by her youngest daughters, whose giggles of excitement had promptly turned to wails of disappointment upon discovering they were to be left behind. So Mrs Gardiner had gone back in Lizzy's carriage to try her hand at persuasion. The journey had been completed at a walking pace, no doubt to the coachman's immense frustration. But they arrived at Mickleham House in time to dress for the ceremony.

In an enormous hat, Fanny had presided over her second daughter's marriage by Special Licence at St George's Hanover Square. Darcy had had to admit that his mother-in-law was still no mean bit when she turned up at the church in her finery, devoid of the lace cap she usually wore. He had even been slightly alarmed when his uncle had cast an appreciative eye in her direction.

Mr Bennet had at first been disinclined to accompany his wife to town for the ceremony. Aside from his premonition of the travelling woes and general dislike of London, he had wanted Lizzy married from Longbourn like her sisters. But he had ceded to his wife's ambition on hearing that Darcy had high relatives in town who were expected to attend. So he came to give his daughter away, completely oblivious to his wife's toilette. But Mr Bennet did noticed the earl's distraction and directed a baleful stare at him for his presumption.

The wedding breakfast had been held at Mickleham House, with Lady Mickleham presiding over a sumptuous feast worthy of the occasion. After ten years of pointedly ignoring each other, Lord and Lady Matlock had even been in the same room together, though at opposite corners. Darcy was only grateful they had preserved their detente for the duration of his wedding, for their feud had erupted again in the front steps as they departed. Aside from that little contretemps, it had all gone off very well.

* * *

Lizzy and Darcy met again over afternoon tea. She had spent her day opening presents and writing thank-you notes while he had gone off to the City to finalise some business there. The time Darcy spent in London every year was always fairly busy—checking on investments and assessing new ones, but it had become positively hectic in the lead-up to the wedding when a protracted absence was being planned for the honeymoon—several weeks of business had had to be conducted in as many days. And there had been the dowry and the settlements to arrange with the trustees—as hardheaded a group of Cits as Darcy had ever encountered. They had accepted his proposal for the settlements on his demise without much argument, for they had been much the same as had been arranged for his mother who, predeceasing her husband, had never used them. But there had been much resistance to Darcy's proposal to settle Lizzy's dowry on a second son or his sisters. The ink had only just dried on the final amendments.

"Did all go well?" Lizzy asked as Darcy came into the saloon.

"Your trustees are as stubborn as mules!" he exclaimed.

"I told you that you would offend their sense of propriety by not accepting the dowry directly. They are a very old-fashioned lot!" she smiled.

"Your money is in good hands," assured Darcy with grim irony. "I'm sure they could spend all day worrying about the last penny."

Lizzy just laughed and poured the tea. "Well, I am about half-way through writing the thank you notes. Your aunt and uncle gave us the most delightful Sèvres tea set—pardon me, 'théière et sucriére et..."

"I get the picture," interrupted Darcy, used to his aunt's need to remind everyone she had dwelt at the French court. "You mean my aunt gave it to us. I'm not sure that my uncle has ever gone near a théière. Is it the set with the onion flower on top? That was always my favourite as a boy."

"Ah, yes! I believe so," said Lizzy gesturing towards the gift on a nearby table and reaching out to retrieve Darcy's aunt's note from her 'answered' pile. "She says:

"Dear Elizabeth, ... da da da ... It was made at the manufactury during the late queen's 'Trianon'* phase and should suit your rustic aesthetics admirably."

Darcy closed his eyes briefly and sighed. They had taken with his aunt once at Richmond during their betrothal period. Though his aunt had been polite to Elizabeth, Lady Matlock had made several private remarks to him on her surprise at Elizabeth's lack of breeding.

"Please accept my apologies," Darcy offered, touching Lizzy's cheek. "Being a member of the peerage, my aunt still clings voraciously to an outdated set of values. She once snubbed Bingley quite outrageously under my own roof."

"Now don't go petting me again," teased Lizzy. "Or we may not get round to drinking this tea."

"Why don't we forget about the tea?" asked Darcy, who had been having difficulty excluding the events of last night from his thoughts all morning.

"What, here?" asked Elizabeth. "Is that possible?"

"I was thinking of that settee over there," said Darcy suggestively.

"I'm willing," said Lizzy, picking up one of the little biscuits that Mrs Flowers had baked and biting off a corner.

Darcy made it to the door in several long strides and swiftly locked it before seating himself on the settee. Lizzy hung back, nibbling on her biscuit, unsure what level of undress was required for congress downstairs—definitely not something maternal advice had prepared her for. But Darcy had merely undone the front of his breeches, the effect of which could be likened to a jack-in-the-box. Lizzy could immediately see the possibilities and quickly straddled him.

"Oh!" he said, fluttering his eyelashes as he slipped his hand under her gown and along her bare thigh to guide her down upon him. "I've been thinking of you all day!" he exhaled.

"Hmm," said Lizzy, giving a test bounce on her knees to meet the last inch. "Clearly, likewise. That was rather easy!"

She rode him with spirit for a good five minutes as the hook inside her belly stabbed until it floundered like a landed fish.

Finally he shuddered and clasped her to his chest. "Oh my goodness!" he gasped, completely out of breath from thrusting upwards against her weight.

Lizzy sighed and nibbled on his ear, causing Darcy to gasp and groan again—anything seemed to set him off after he was sated.

Then she looked about her to see the settee had walked a good three inches across a rug and was on the verge of knocking over a small table. "Do you think the furniture will stand much more of this treatment?" she giggled.

"If it breaks I shall buy you another," he solemnly replied.

 **The End**

* * *

 **Stay tuned for the epilogue, which I will likely post in conjunction with the publication of one of my stories. Let me know what you would like me to include.**

 **As for now, I intend to proof another of my finished ff stories. I'm currently not sure which of my other plot ideas to take forward. I thought _Go Down Red Ros_ es would be a lot more popular than it is, and as for _Cinder Lizzy_ , I just wrote it as a piece of fluff and it has turned out to be more favourited than any of my other stories!**

 **Currently, I have two ideas, one is a time-travel story called _Quantum_ _Entanglement_. The other is a Medieval version called _Blood and Iron_. I'll post the stubs of both in the next few weeks and take the one readers are most interested in forward.**

* * *

 **Footnotes**

Trianon—The Hameau de la Reine (The Queen's Hamlet) is a rustic retreat built to Marie Antoinette's order at the Petit Trianon. The buildings included a farmhouse, (the farm was to produce milk and eggs for the queen), a dairy, a dovecote, a boudoir, a barn and a mill.


End file.
